


Reverberation

by Selador



Series: sentinel au [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Gen, Guide!Prompto, M/M, Multi, Sentinel!Cor, Sentinel/Guide, i explain how this AU works do not fear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-01-04 08:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Prompto makes the mistake of helping out a distressed sentinel in the subway, and ends up with with way more sentinels asking for his attention than he ever wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sentinel/Guide AUs are SORELY lacking in the FFXV fandom, so allow me to help with that. 
> 
> I update tags as I go.

Being outed as a guide is not the worst thing that has happened to Prompto.

It really isn’t. Doesn’t even rank. Fleeing from Niflheim, waiting for _months_ being processed for refugee status in Insomnia, and the nights when his sister doesn’t check in with Hunter HQ at her designated times—those are all _much_ worse.

Granted. It’s only not the worse thing that ever happened to him _because_ they’re in Lucis right now, and not Niflheim. In Niflheim, he wouldn’t ever had made it to presenting as a guide. Either surviving that long or getting through the experiments in tact enough to develop, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have happened.

And if it had… well. He wouldn’t have had any say on what happened to him, once found and discovered as a guide. Prompto would have been shipped off to the highest bidder, given to some general or lieutenant who needed their own personal guide.

Someone who would be in _his_ head. Prompto shudders.

And it's not like he really hid the fact that he's a guide, here in Lucis. It's more like no one thought he wasn't registered.

But still. This isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to Prompto. They'll slap him with a fine, make him take some classes, register his info, put him in the pool of eligible guides for sentinels of equivalent score levels, and call it a day.

That's what _should_ happen. It shouldn't be that big of a deal.

But as he gets into a black, Citadel-official, tinted windows car with a freaked out Sentinel whose panic makes the air itself feel like it's throbbing in pain, Prompto really doubts his decision-making.

…

Prompto walks through the subway station, heading to a job. Nothing special, just a regular run as Dino’s photographer on another story, but it'll pad his income until Aranea sends something his way from one of her hunts.

So he's not really in a rush in the subway, and when a sudden wave of terror passes through him so strong it drowns out his music, he stops. A lot of guides in the station do, looking around for a sentinel who's showing signs of a panic attack. Or of zoning.

Really, with emotions like this, Prompto expects to hear screaming. Or at least crying. But there's people rushing about unaware, though some are noticing that about a quarter of the population in the station has stopped. More than a quarter, even, with so many guides having sentinels.

And to make this even _better_ for those with empathetic abilities, the guides who can't pinpoint the sentinel who's freaking out make an echo chamber of nervousness and fear that's helping exactly no one.

Prompto gets a bit annoyed when he realizes that some of these guides are projecting. _They're going to start a riot at this point_ , he thinks. And the guy standing by the seats on the wall, he doesn't look like a sentinel with a panic attack. His face is so calm, belying none of his emotions that are tearing through all of the guides in the station.

Must be a soldier. Prompto's not trained for this at all but it's been a minute and even the empath-null people are beginning to look nervous, and the guy is still freaking out quietly with no one helping him.

Prompto pulls out his earbuds, makes sure his camera is securely and safely in its case and walks over without any more hesitation.

The guy’s expression doesn't change as he approaches. He might be zoning already. Unless if that's a soldier thing. Soldiers who are also sentinels and don't have guides can be pretty weird.

And dangerous. Prompto doesn't think this guy will be a problem, though. He's already not doing anything, so he must have great control. He can help long enough for him to get it together.

“Hey,” Prompto says with a grin. The sentinel’s eyes zero in on him, which is a good sign. You can't touch a sentinel who's not yours that's already zoning. “Having a bad day?” he asks, getting close enough to touch but keeping his arms by his side. The sentinel’s leaning against the station wall— _gross_ —and he doesn't say anything. “Do you want me to help? You can focus on me for a bit,” Prompto offers. “I'll do what I can.” If his main sense is touch or smell, things might get a little bit awkward, but most people won’t care. Especially not with how freaked everyone is getting now.

Sight or hearing would be a lot easier, and would mean the guy doesn’t _have_ to touch him (but probably will anyway), but Prompto’s never that lucky. Guy’s definitely military thought, clean and short hair. Pretty handsome, too, if a bit old for Prompto.

 _Yup_ , Prompto thinks as the guy’s hands reach out for him, settling with a tense grip on his bare arms. _Called it_. _Shiva, I hope he doesn’t try to lick me. Please don’t be a taste focused. Touch is better_. He tries to project _calm_ as much as possible. He wants to focus on the sentinel, but the others around are getting tetchy too.

“Are you sure?” the guy asks, voice quiet and hoarse, and Prompto thinks, _Shit, he’s gonna lick me._

“Yeah, man,” he says anyway, because waves of panic are still radiating from the guy. “Focus on me.”

The sentinel pulls him towards him. Prompto keeps his arms loose by his side, and is mildly surprised when the guy leans down just to press his face against Prompto’s shoulder. He expects to feel a wet tongue there, but the sentinel just takes a deep, shuddering breath in. And out.

 _Oh, smell,_ Prompto thinks. He showered that morning after his usual run, so it should be fine. Unless, do scented products annoy sentinels? Shit. They probably do. And Prompto’s shampoo is lavender scented, which, knowing his luck, isn’t sentinel-safe.

The sentinel takes another deep breath, and his grip on Prompto’s arms tighten.

Prompto breathes in and out slowly. The air isn't throbbing with panic quite so much now, and it lessens with every inhale the sentinel takes. The sentinel’s arms move to pull Prompto into a hold that is too desperate for an embrace.

There’s stuff going on behind him, noise and confusing emotions, but Prompto's not quite ready to turn away from the sentinel who's only now slipping back into control.

“Marshal,” a deep voice says behind them. The sentinel jerks his head up, enough that he can look over Prompto’s shoulder.

Prompto twists and cranes his neck to see behind him, and the sentinel’s fingers dig into his back. “Don't,” the sentinel warns. “Please.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Prompto reassures just as the man behind says, “It’s alright, son. You're fine.”

The man’s words are a warning, and Prompto doesn't understand why for a second. “Oh,” he says as he realizes. “No, I'm fine. I meant to be here.”

A shuffling sound of fabric and leather. “Did you? Are you trained?”

No. Not officially, but trial by Ifrit’s fire wouldn't be a good answer here. “No,” he says, fidgeting a bit, and stopping when the sentinel mutters. “I just wanted to help.”

The man behind him sighs. “Okay. Just keep calm, you hear? Cor’s calming down already. We're going to take you both to a sentinel safe room. Alright, Cor?”

The sentinel—Cor—nods into Prompto's shoulder.

Prompto guesses he's not getting to that job then.

He’ll need to text Dino. He can’t leave him hanging. Or worse, going on his own.

Cor takes a breath, and shifts them so he has an arm over Prompto's shoulders. It's a bit of a relief to not be held so tightly, and now he can see what's happening behind him.

The answer is a lot of Crownsguards. Like, wow. Prompto's never seen this many at once, and he's a Niff refugee.

And they're all staring at him, as if this isn't nerve-wracking enough.

“They're fine,” the sentinel says. Shit, he must smell nervous. “This is standard procedure.”

A lot of trouble for a standard procedure. For the first time, Prompto doubts if he should have gotten involved. “This happen a lot?” he asks, as they begin to walk through the station, the Crownsguards surrounding them like a highly-armed bubble. This isn't—okay, he knew the sentinel was in a bad way and it might take some time to get him to calm down, but he didn't really think the _Crownsguard_ themselves would show up and herd them away.

“Among soldiers,” Cor says, “yes. I—this is unusual for me.”

“It can happen to anyone, Cor,” the man with the deep voice says and there's something about the name and the guy that rings a bell Prompto’s head. “Do you have a sentinel?” The man asks to Prompto, who shakes his head.

The man raises his eyebrows in disbelief and Prompto can just catch the expression on some of the guards’ faces. He doesn't quite know what that's about. “Really? But to help Cor, you must be at least a level 6,” he eyed Prompto. “I should know of you, at least. There are lots of sentinels in the Citadel who need a strong guide.”

A buzzing of suspicion whispers through the guards, and Prompto chuckles nervously, which makes the sentinel pull him in closer. It doesn’t do anything to soothe his unease—the sentinel is one of them, after all. He won’t need Prompto soon, so who cares? “I have an appointment to get registered,” which is a lie, but can easily be made true. “I came into it recently.”

The man peers at him, not buying it a bit. “You seem familiar with your abilities as a guide for someone who just came into it.”

“Um,” Prompto says, the guards’ awareness and focused wariness making his skin prickle. “Um, I—”

“Enough, Clarus,” the sentinel says, and the name dings something in Prompto’s head, but he can’t grasp it. “You’re making him nervous, which is pissing me off. Save it for later.” The arm around Prompto’s shoulders squeeze him in a bit as they walk up the stairs out of the station. They’re quite a group, and walking upstairs with a tall guy’s arm on your shoulders isn’t the easiest thing. He’s not sure why they didn’t take the elevator. “And relax, kid. If you’re not registered, then we’ll register you and send you on your way. It’ll be fine.”

It’ll be fine, or there’ll be a _fine_? “Okay,” Prompto says, the oppressive static of emotions around him easing off a bit. He can afford a fine, now, but this seems like a bit of a bigger deal than he thought he was getting into.

He didn't think—he had to help, but he didn't think that this would even get to a point where any Crownsguards were called. Not the least an _entourage_.

There's a sleek, official, Crownsguard car waiting outside the station for them, much like the ones that the Prince would use when they went to school together.

Prompto never thought he'd get to go inside one. Sure, it’s awkward to get inside with a sentinel attached to him, but it’s such a _nice_ car. Cor doesn't let go of him, following right behind him into the car with his hand on the back of his neck. Prompto feels like the sentinel is an awkward and useless extension of his limbs this way.

He's never really liked how sentinels crowd their guides all the time, and this one wasn't any different.

… The sentinel is a good deal _cleaner_ than most of the hunters Prompto's helped before. Prompto doesn't have a sentinel’s nose, but hunters don't typically have regular access to showers.

They get the back seat to themselves. Prompto slides to the farthest seat and the sentinel follows him right into the middle seat, leaning his head down into his shoulder again, which Prompto more or less expected, but still finds surprising.

He can't put on a seatbelt like this, so… he'll just hope Crownsguards are good drivers and won’t get them killed, he guesses.

The ride is quiet. The driver and the man with the deep voice—Clarus?—don't speak at all. Prompto hopes it's for the sentinel’s sake, for his overloaded senses. And not because they’re planning on what to do with him.

Cor did say that Clarus was pissing him off by making Prompto smell nervous. That could be it, too.

Sentinels always want to protect guides. Because they're sensitive, usually can't hurt other things, and are so affected by others around them.

Prompto thinks sentinels are fucking annoying.

And right now, he knows he did the right thing, but he's beginning to worry that he shouldn't have.

…

The city of Insomnia passes by through darkly tinted glass, and Prompto notices that the direction they’re heading in is a little bit odd.

“Um,” he says, and he’s prepared for the sentinel to pull him in closer when he does. “Where are we going?”

Clarus shifts to look at him. “We’re going to the Citadel.”

Prompto gapes a little. “Oh,” he says, roiling in confusion.

The sentinel lifts his head up a bit. “We’re going to the Citadel,” he says, “because I’m the Marshal of the Crownsguard.”

“You didn’t know that?” asks Clarus, frowning.

“Cor?” Prompto says. “Cor the Immortal?”

Prompto knows this is the wrong thing to say as the words spill from his lips, the sentinel moving away from him, trying to shut away his empathic feed. “What, what did I say?” Prompto asks, leaning into him. He did _not_ want to be stuck in a car with a distressed sentinel.

“Nothing,” the sentinel says, “you’re right. I’m Cor Leonis. The Immortal.”

“Oh,” Prompto says. The sentinel—who’s the fucking Marshal of the Crownsguard, no wonder they’re going straight to the Citadel—pulls him back towards him. “Okay. Great.”

Prompto’s definitely not going to make it to that job. He fiddles with his pocket, pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?” Clarus asks sharply, and Cor immediately grunts into Prompto’s neck, “ _Clarus_ ,” and Prompto suddenly remembers who _Clarus_ actually is.

“For Shiva’s sake, chill,” Prompto snaps, the suspicion and panic wearing him down, along with the knowledge that he’s in the same car as the _Shield_ of the _King_. “I need to tell someone I’m not going to make it to a thing.”

Suspicion roils around in the car, but no one stops him from taking out his phone and sending off a text.

 _hey man_ , Prompto taps out. Cor’s face is still buried in his neck, so he’s not worried about him seeing it. _i’m not going to make it today, an emergency came up. sorry i’m flaking out_

It’s read and a reply is in progress before he can even put the phone away.

 _sure man. we can actually do tomorrow i can’t get a hold of my contact_ , and Prompto’s never been more relieved that Dino’s first love isn’t reporting. _everything ok? need a rescue? If anything’s really wrong i won’t be able to help but i can make sure everyone knows about it_

 _i might be getting kidnapped,_ Prompto writes.

 _i was joking,_ is Dino’s instant response. _u ok? what’s happening?_

“We’re here,” says Clarus, and Prompto clicks his phone off.

And… wow. They’re really at the Citadel.

 _Holy shit_ , Prompto thinks, as he slowly gets out of the car with a sentinel attached. This includes a Crownsguard opening the door for him and the sentinel following his every movement to exit. _This place is gorgeous_. It was a beautiful sight from everywhere in the city, of course, but Prompto had never had the chance to see it up close. It’s a gleaming, two-towered structure, all clean, precise lines, that towers over the nearby buildings.

And a lot of stairs. Wow, that is a _lot_ of stairs.

Prompto has to deal with going up them with an arm over his shoulder, and more Crownsguards seemingly appear out of the ether to escort them up.

Prompto is not a fan of being surrounded by Crownsguards. He’s not a fan of Crownsguards in general, and definitely not when they’re surrounding him.

They always make him nervous when they prowl around the Niff District.

“Those are a lot of stairs,” Prompto murmurs.

A Crownsguard near him, who feels like a sparking wire, an unbonded sentinel, says sharply, “We can’t take the elevator. We don’t put distressed sentinels in enclosed spaces.”

That… makes sense. Prompto swallows a reply to explain that’s not what he _meant_ with what he said, but he doesn’t think it matters.

“Monica, go inform His Majesty of what’s happened,” Clarus says to one of the Crownsguards. “Cor, you doing alright?”

“Fine,” the sentinel says. And he’s not _lying_ , but his distress simmers. The panic is a bit of a distant echo, but Prompto’s not the only one who doesn’t like the current situation and fuss. If nothing else, it’s embarrassing. And Prompto doesn’t even know any of these people. “I’ve calmed down, Clarus. This isn’t necessary.”

Clarus shoots Cor a scathing look. “You and I both know that this isn’t enough for a sentinel to ‘calm down,’” he says. “And it’s not just your sake we have to consider. Procedure demands at least an hour in the sentinel chamber,” his eyes slide over to Prompto. “If you _are_ really fine, try letting the guide go.”

A tense moment passes where the sentinel does not let go of him.

“Follow me, Cor, and—” says Clarus and stops. “What's the guide’s name?”

Cor looks to Prompto, “I’m afraid I don't know.”

Prompto clears his throat. “Um. Prompto.”

“And you said you haven't registered?” Clarus says.

“I'm going to,” Prompto says, a little desperately. The sentinel says yet again, “Clarus.”

“You are. After this is done,” Clarus says to Prompto, considering. “I do apologize for the inconvenience. And thank you for assisting Cor. I'm certain this isn't what you signed up for. We’ll try to make this go as smoothly as possible.”

Right. Right. Maybe Prompto should have asked Dino for help immediately. Not much one reporter could do against the Shield of the King, but at least Prompto would be remembered.

…

They file across hallways that are black marble with gilded gold, tapestries with the Caelum’s coat of arms embroidered into it with what Prompto thinks is real gold. Shiva, just one of the tapestries would pay his rent for _forever_.

They go into a sentinel safe room, guards plastered to the doorway on berserk watch.

He walks into the room with the sentinel, and Prompto’s realizes he’s never been in a room alone with a sentinel before.  

Before he can say something—to protest or ask for help or _anything_ —the door shuts with a terrifying finality.

The sounds from the Citadel, as few as they were, vanish. The room is soundproof.

Ah. That’s why it’s a sentinel-safe room, Prompto realizes, as he’s never been in one of those either. It cuts off most extreme sensory input. It seems so small, and bland, and can they can’t hear anything from in here what if something goes wrong—

“Kid,” the sentinel says, suddenly in front of him. Prompto flinches back, and the sentinel makes an obvious effort not to follow him. He leans forwards, and aborts taking an actual step towards him. “You're panicking.”

“No, I’m not,” Prompto says, breath coming too rapidly.

The frown already on Cor’s face deepens, staring intently down at Prompto. He’s really way too tall. “Alright,” he says. “Why don't you have a seat while we wait this out? I'll sit over here.”

At times like this, Prompto really hates being a guide—he _is_ freaking out, and he thinks he's past the point of where he can calm down on his own. He doesn't want the sentinel to touch him, but he might need him.

He does sit down, with his knees up and loose. A few feet away from him, Cor sits down cross-legged. Still staring at him. 

Prompto bites the inside of his cheek, like he used to in Niflheim. It hurts, and the coppery taste of blood soon fills his mouth, but it stays the panic and distracts him from the _staring_. For a little bit. The immediate pain fades from the initial cut, so he worries it with his teeth to keep it going.

It's a good technique if you’re standing at attention and there would be severe punishment for emotional outbursts. Or if you're traveling through the country or city alone, desperately avoiding detection.

Not so much when you have a sentinel’s full attention.

“What’s that smell?” Cor asks abruptly. “Is that blood? Are you bleeding?”

Prompto stops his discreet biting, frozen. And then he remembers that this guy has _smell_ as his strongest sense.

 _Fuck_.

“No,” he says, mumbling, not quite sure how much he’s actually bleeding in his mouth. It’s hard to tell, really, and it’s never been something he’s had to worry about before—no one usually demands that he talk—but Cor rushes up until he’s kneeling in front of Prompto.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, in such a voice that the part of Prompto that never forgot any of his training obeys. He knows at once that he shouldn’t have, can feel a dribble of blood fall from his mouth as he does, but it’s too late. “When did this happen?” the sentinel demands, alarmed. “Did you—did you do this to _yourself_?”

“I—” Prompto begins, trying to find an excuse that’ll stem the intense focus coming from the sentinel. “I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“You bit yourself so hard that you’re bleeding from your mouth, and you did that while you weren’t _thinking_ about it?” Cor asks.

He doesn’t believe him.

“It was—I’m from Niflheim, it was—I couldn’t—” Prompto doesn’t want to explain. He ends with, “It’s none of your business,” but his voice is weak and higher than he would like, and his shame is sharp enough to smell.

Cor breathes out slowly. His face is pale and tight. “It’s not any of my business,” he repeats. “I’m not your sentinel, and you’re not my guide. However, there are better ways to deal with… to calm down than hurting yourself.”

“Right,” Prompto says, whatever control he’d gain over himself slipping away. “I just need to find myself a nice sentinel. A strong one who’d protect me,” he says, frustration and sarcasm dripping from every word, the suffocating feeling of being in this bland room alone with _a freaking sentinel_ overwhelming him. “Like you, right?”

The sentinel has enough of a grasp on himself to keep his emotions to himself, which is… good, because Prompto is having enough trouble with his own emotions right now, let alone some sentinel’s.

“Is there a reason,” Cor says, after some length, “why you don’t want a sentinel?”

“That’s none of your business,” Prompto snaps, knowing he’s projecting and not being able to stop it. “I didn’t sign up for this. I shouldn’t have helped you. I shouldn’t have—” He gasps, pressing his hands against his chest in a futile attempt to calm himself down. As if his hands can stem the tide of panic in his chest.

“Kid,” the sentinel implores, leaning closer, “let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Prompto says, breaths coming too quick. He can’t keep himself upright, and slides down, curled onto his side. He presses his eyes shut, hoping he can forget the situation for just a moment. Just long enough to pretend that he’s alright. But he’s not alright, and hates being a guide, and being so easily overwhelmed by his own emotions. Closing his eyes only makes the screaming panic more absolute in his body. For a moment, the room and the sentinel falls away; all that exists is himself and his horrible thoughts.

Then a hand touches his upper arm, and Prompto breaks.

He lashes out with his arm, to get the hand off of him, but he can feel the impact of his mind against the sentinel’s. Cor grunts in pain, and Prompto hears him be pushed backwards.

“ _Shit_ ,” Cor spits, and Prompto can barely hear him over the pain of the migraine Prompto just gave him, “how strong are you, kid?”

“Shit, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—” Prompto says, now pressing his palm against his head. The worst thing about being a guide, in Prompto’s opinion, is that you can feel everyone else’s pain. Even if—or especially if—you inflicted it yourself.

“Okay,” the sentinel says, quietly, “okay. What would help you right _now_?”

He doesn’t know. Prompto doesn’t know. Whenever he’s gotten this bad, he’s always just hidden out of sight and rode it out.

 _Maybe a sentinel can help_ , Prompto thinks, and he roughly pushes the thought away.

“I wait,” Prompto says, voice strained.

Cor huffs, frowning. “That must take a while.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto tells him, lying through his teeth, and knowing that he’s projecting so hard that the sentinel can _feel_ his lie.

“Kid,” the sentinel says, and sighs. “Look. What do you think is going to happen? You've comforted sentinels before right? It's pretty much the same thing the other way, I just… let you into my mind.”

 _That's got to be against some rule_ , Prompto thinks. _He's a soldier, they'd never let me go if I see inside his head._

“No,” Prompto says, but he's sure his anxieties are making themselves clear.

“Dammit, kid,” Cor says. “Okay, we won't do that. But you know unbonded sentinels help with their presence, right? I can help take the edge off.”

That—that might work. Despite how much Prompto doesn’t want to be involved with a sentinel, they do feel good to be around when they’re calm. Like some stupid, compatible, genetic quirk. He doesn't know what it involves, but as long as it's not something that'll mean they'll lock him up forever, he can deal. Anything to get him out of here faster. “Okay,” he says.

“Good,” Cor says. “All I need to do for it is hold you.” He pauses, migraine still not faded away. “Will you allow that? Or are you going to lash out again?”

Prompto, not quite yet trusting himself to speak, answers by reaching a tentative hand out to the sentinel. As soon as he does, the sentinel reaches for him and pulls him closer, until Prompto's sitting on the guy’s cross-legged lap.

The sentinel isn't wrong; his surface level emotions soothe away the edges of panic, _unbonded sentinel_ making it that much faster for Prompto to get himself down to a level he can cope with.

But Ifrit burn it all, Prompto _hates_ being a guide.


	2. Behemoth Bureaucracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto goes to get registered as a guide. Or tries, really.

Prompto’s held in the sentinel’s arms for quite some time. He hates it, but it helps. He hates it because it helps. 

He’s still sitting on the sentinel’s lap, cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt, eyes squeezed shut, and breathing through his nose to calm himself down faster. It’s not quite working; he’s no sentinel, but Prompto’s still hyperaware of the sentinel’s arms hot around him, his heartbeat under his ear, and his thighs under Prompto’s ass.

Prompto’s so embarrassed that he’s sure Cor can smell it. Or like,  _ feel _ the heat radiating from his face. 

He’s so embarrassed, being cradled like a child by a stranger. 

“They’ll be coming to check in on us soon,” the sentinel says suddenly. “If you want to get up.”

_ Thank the gods, _ Prompto thinks, as he scrambles up. He definitely hits Cor by accident as he does so, flailing a bit too much in his rush to get up. 

He stands in the room, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet, while he waits. The sentinel stays sitting on the ground, watching him.

Cor asks, “Are you okay?” It’s the normal thing to ask, but the sentiment falls flat when Prompto knows that Cor can clearly smell that he isn’t. 

“No, I’m  _ not _ ,” Prompto snaps, anger fraying his control and on the verge of panic  _ again _ . “Being locked in a room with a strange sentinel is not my idea of a good time!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the sentinel says, shifting in his place like he wants to stand up, but thinks better of it, “or--force a  _ bond _ on you--”

“Oh, good, I can definitely just take your word for it,” Prompto says. Just like that, any calm he’s gotten from the last hour is undone. Which is quite possibly the worst thing that could happen, because Prompto’s statement isn’t exactly true--he  _ could _ take the sentinel’s word for it, and determine how much of a threat he is to him just based on his empathetic senses. 

But those aren’t worth shit if he’s so freaked out to the point where all empathetic stimuli grates on his mind and feels like a threat.

The door opens, and Prompto  _ feels _ the prickling sensation of others’ wariness and annoyance washing over him. He didn’t realize that the room muffled empathetic input. That’s… he doesn’t know what could do that. 

The Shield, Clarus, walks in, and he takes in the situation with a frown. Prompto’s face burns in embarrassment, knowing that a bonded sentinel like the Shield would smell Prompto’s distress and panic instantly. 

“What happened here?” Clarus asks, to Cor, which pisses Prompto off just enough to be mouthy.

“You left me locked in here for an  _ hour _ with him, that’s what happened!” Prompto yells, voice pitch rising as it always does, when he’s angry or scared. “I don’t know him,  _ what the fuck were you thinking _ ?”

Prompto thinks, somewhere underneath the anger and panic, that he really shouldn’t be yelling at the Shield of the King. The Shield who’s staring at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Clarus,” Cor says, “this has truly been one shitshow of a day, and we’re only making it worse. Maybe we should let it end already and  _ let him go _ .”

Clarus hesitates. “We need to get him registered.”

“Do you really think that this is the best time and place for that?” Cor snaps, standing up. Prompto hates how much  _ taller _ everyone is than him. He’s not even short, dammit. “We can get him registered later.”

There’s a tense pause, before Clarus relents. “Fine. Prompto, Monica will escort you out.”

No one enters the room, so Prompto tentatively makes his way out. The sentinel doesn’t move to stop him, and the tightness in his shoulders lessen. 

“This way, please,” says Monica, gesturing to Prompto’s right. They walk down the various, long hallways, footsteps echoing loudly among the faint murmur of staff and nobility working. The walls and floors are gilded gold on black, and Prompto suspects that they are  _ real gold _ . He wonders if he should even be walking on them with his dirty boots, and things,  _ They dragged me here, if I get crap on their floor, it’s their fault.  _

They get to an elevator, and step inside. Some light, horrible, easy-listening muzak plays in what Prompto thinks must be one of the most uncomfortable elevator rides in his life. 

The doors open, and they walk a bit to a door, that exits the Citadel on the side. “This way we can avoid all of those stairs,” says Monica, with a tight smile. Prompto smiles uneasily back. “Before you go, let me see your ID.”

Prompto pulls out his papers. “Oh, I just need your ID card,” she says, handing back to him his various forms recognizing him as a citizen of Insomnia, his old refugee status, his refugee approval paperwork, his various tests forms demonstrating that he passed his citizenry tests, and his school IDs. “We’ll need to send someone to you to get you registered as a guide, so we need your contact info.”

Prompto shrugs, rubbing his bare upper arms as he waits for Monica to record his information. He’s honestly a little surprised that they took this long to get this information, but what’s he going to do? Run?

They’d use that as an excuse to do anything they wanted to him.

_ Not as bad as Niflheim _ , a small part of his mind whispers, but he tells it soundly,  _ still bad enough. _

“Alright, you’re good to go,” Monica says, smiling at him. He smiles back, reflexively, but he’s shifting his weight between his feet, waiting to go. He grabs his ID and bolts as quick as he can without literally running out of the Citadel. 

The Citadel is in a neighborhood he’s not that familiar with, because why would he be? It’s a posh, expensive area, with residencies occupied by nobility and dignitaries that are there less than half the time. There’s people and children playing on the streets, and they give Prompto a double-take.

He hurries a bit faster. 

Eventually, much too long, the shiny, well-maintained apartments and houses fade, replaced by those in various states of “not so nice” and “decent,” and then further into obvious disrepair. Prompto relaxes when he gets to trash littered on the sidewalks, and moreso when the sidewalks disappear entirely.

When he’s in the Niff District, he breathes a sign of polluted air and relief, and goes home. 

…

Dino texts him the next morning.  _ job y/n? _

And,  _ wait are you still kidnapped? _

_ do you need a knight in shining armor? cause i know a guy _

Prompto texts back, rolling over in his bed,  _ no, i was returned. and y to job where _

_ Meet me by the south gate we gotta go to duscae _

It occurs to Prompto, as he’s getting his gear, that leaving Insomnia might not be the best idea right now. But he can’t be expected to haunt his home while he waits for them to show up to register him, can he?

_ Of course they expect that, _ Prompto berates himself.  _ They make the rules, not you. _

_ i can’t take jobs longer than a day _ , he texts Dino, after some hesitation.

_ we’re just gonna get a shot of a behemoth, _ Dino texts back.  _ My contact told me where it’s currently at like 5 mins ago, and he’ll keep me updated. only a day _

Prompto bites his lips, but types,  _ okay _

The South Gate is busy, but Prompto waits for Dino to find him, as he usually does. He clambers into his car, pulls out his ID, and they wait in a queue until they’re out on the open road.    


“So, kidnapping,” Dino says, some pop song playing quietly in the background, when Insomnia is becoming distant fast behind them. “What happened?”

“I helped a sentinel in the subway who ended up being important. Crownsguard got involved,” Prompto says, fiddling with his camera. He opens the window a bit, but the air is hot and dusty. He closes it immediately, bumps up the AC. “They took me to the Citadel for us both to calm down, but, uh. It didn’t help.”

“Oh, well. That sucks,” Dino says. He’s tilting his head a bit, staring at the road. “Seems stressful, but it’s all done now, right?”

Prompto sighs. “No. I wasn’t registered as a guide, so… it’s not quite done yet.”

Dino glances at him for half a second. “I didn’t know you weren’t registered as a guide. What the fuck, Prompto?”

“It wasn’t a big thing, we just couldn’t afford the fee when I developed,” Prompto protests. “And then when we could, we had already broken the law. Didn’t really seem much of a point.”

“Well, I mean, okay, but now all you have to do is register, right? No big deal?”

“Right,” Prompto says, thinking about Cor and when he said  _ how strong are you kid _ . “No big deal.”

“Right,” Dino says. “Is it a big deal?”

Prompto flinches. “Maybe?” 

“What does ‘maybe’ mean?” Dino asks. “Are we talking like, you pissed off the King somehow when you were in the Citadel, the sentinel was really hot and now you wanna do the mind smoosh with him, or they got upset over some of your paperwork? Like how ‘maybe’ are we talking here?”

“No, my paperwork was fine,” Prompto says, “I just, the sentinel said something while I was in the sentinel safe room with him, and I’m worried it’s not going to end.”

“What’s not going to end?” Dino asks. Interrogates. He’s good at that. 

“He said I was strong,” Prompto mutters. “As a guide. And… Dino, it was the Marshal of the Crownsguard. Cor the Immortal.”

Worryingly, Dino swivels to look at him, until Prompto says, “Road!” and he looks away.

“You got one on one time with Cor Leonis?” Dino says. “Why didn’t you say that  _ first _ , who needs a monstrous behemoth when my own buddy has a scoop on one of the most powerful men in Insomnia!”

“I don’t have a scoop, and  _ no _ ,” Prompto says. “We’re not doing that Dino.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got such a pretty face,” Dino sighs. “Alright, but you still gotta tell me. Details, man.”

Prompto tells him, and by the time he’s done, Dino concludes only, “Cor is hot. You should’ve jumped him.”

“I’m friend breaking up with you. That wasn’t my point at all.”

Dino pulls over on the street, and they get out. “Do you know what I could’ve done with an hour alone with Cor the Immortal?” Prompto goes to the trunk and gets out his gun case. 

“We’re not picking a fight with a behemoth,” Dino says. “Just want to interview some townies and get a picture, is all.”

...

They don’t pick a fight, but some MTs do, and Prompto feels certain vindication picking them off in quick order. Each kill gives off some empathetic backlash, but Prompto grits his teeth against it. Prompto stays hidden behind a rock formation with his rifle, and Dino waits hidden further below.

“You know, at some point,” Dino says, “the Empire’s gonna wonder who’s killing entire squadrons in Duscae.”

“I’m a guide, they won’t suspect me at all,” Prompto says, as he headshots another one. The MT crumples oddly, its movements inhuman. Its distress and agony releases in a sharp point before it dies, and abruptly stops. 

Prompto shudders. It’s foolish, but he takes his eyes away from his target for a second to reassure himself that his tattoo, the one meant to cover his  _ other _ tattoo, is still there. “And we’re good. Let’s go.”

The behemoth isn’t hard to find, and it’s sleeping. Prompto fiddles with his gun. “You know, I could…”

“You can’t take down a behemoth by yourself,” Dino hisses. “Just get a picture and let’s go.”

Prompto snaps a picture. 

His flash is off, and this camera is meant for wildlife photos, but it still makes a little  _ click _ noise. 

Its eyes open, and the slitted pupil narrows in the light.

And to top it all off, Dino screams.

…

Prompto shoots the behemoth in the eye, and then the other, and while it’s screaming, furious, and blinded, they take off. Its anger and pain follows him, but his fear--and Dino’s fear--win out.

They race into the car, and Dino floors it before Prompto’s even fully seated.

“Shit!” Dino yells.

“Fuck!” Prompto yells back.

“Please tell me you got a good shot?” Dino yells, as he drives madly and the sound of thrashing and crashing fades into the distance.

“I definitely did!” Prompto yells, flipping his camera over to view the last shot he took.

It’s a picture of the behemoth, lying right in front of the camera, eyes wide open and staring at the viewer.

It’s fucking terrifying. 

It’s perfect.

...

They get back to Insomnia late, but they do get back that night. Prompto drives, letting Dino to click clack on his keyboard for the article about the behemoth. Instead of music, they play snippets of the interviews Dino took of townspeople who have been terrorized by the behemoth. 

The article’s done and submitted to his editor by the time they get to the South Gate.

Prompto’s apartment is closer, so they head over there. They’re too exhausted to talk, so Prompto pulls up Dino’s dusty car in the street in front of his apartment building, parks, and they shuffle inside. 

“I hope your hot water works,” Dino mutters. “I’m disgusting.”

“Yeah, you stink,” Prompto says in response, and Dino shoves his shoulder.

They walk up the four flights of stairs to Prompto’s floor, go down the hallway, and… there’s someone standing in front of Prompto’s apartment.

They are not in a crownsguard uniform, but everything about them screams crownsguard. Prompto stops walking, wondering  _ how _ anyone so out of place in the Niff district got into his building and has been standing in front of his door for. How long even?

“Mr. Argentum,” says the obvious crownsguard, “your presence is required at the Citadel.”

“‘ _ Required’ _ ?” Dino repeats. “What, are you arresting him? You got a warrant?”

“I have a warrant,” the crownsguard says. “And my badge. Mr. Argentum is required at the Citadel for his guide registration.”

“Well, that’s no trouble,” Dino says, “We’ll go to the registration office tomorrow and send a document verifying we did so later this week. As is the normal procedure.” No matter how much he joked about how Prompto should have jumped Cor, Dino knows his shit. 

“This is not normal procedure,” the crownsguard begins, and Dino cuts him off.

“It obviously isn’t, since you’re been waiting here for what, hours? Go home, man. The worst you can do about a guide not registering on time is give him a fine, so give us the fine, and go on your way.”

“I--I’m to bring Mr. Argentum into the Citadel,” the crownsguard says. Dino smiles, indulgently, terrifyingly. His confidence soothes Prompto’s nerves, and he opens up his mind a bit to feel it more.

“Well, he don’t want to go. Right, Prompto?”

Prompto nods, but spies Dino’s hand in his pocket, where his recorder is. So he says clearly, “Right. I don’t want to go to the Citadel.”

“He doesn’t want to go. And if the only concern here is getting him registered, well, we’ll just pay the fine and get a deadline for registration. No need to go to the Citadel at all.”

“My orders--” the crownsguard says.

“Your  _ orders _ don’t matter to me, and you don’t have the power to seize Insomnian citizens against their will without cause. You got a fine for us or not?”

“I--no.”

“Alright. Got anything else for us, or you just gonna keep blocking the door?” Dino asks, smile sharp. 

The crownsguard steps aside, and Dino pushes Prompto forward, gets the door for them, and locks it behind them.

Dino holds up a finger to his lips, and they wait, until they hear the crownsguard leaving. His steps are quiet, but the floor in the hallway creak and groan at every shift of weight. 

“Alright, well,” Dino says. “That happened.”

Prompto releases a shuddering breath, and says, “Oh,  _ shit _ .”

Dino turns to him immediately. “You feeling okay?”

“ _ No _ ,” Prompto says, “ _ why _ did they want to take me to the Citadel?”

“Okay, okay, we know how to deal with this,” Dino says. “You’re in your apartment. You’re safe. The door’s locked, see?” Dino makes a show of attempting to open the door, which stays firmly closed. “And it’s just me with you.”

Prompto breathes, and slowly lowers himself to the floor to lie down. His carpet needs a good vacuum, but the cool, scratchy fabric is soothing.

Dino kneels by him, and pets his hair a bit.

“It’s going to be fine,” Dino says. “I’ll stick around for a bit until it’s sorted. We could go to my apartment, if you want.”

Prompto likes his apartment, but who knows how long that crownsguard had been standing outside there. Who knows how many people  _ saw _ him. At best, his neighbors all think Prompto’s in trouble. At  _ worst _ , they’ll think he’s snitching to the crownsguard. 

“Your place,” Prompto says. “Please.”

…

Dino’s apartment is nice, and in a well-to-do area. It’s almost as if Dino’s not a hick from the country, but Prompto supposes that’s exactly what he’s trying to hide.

“Make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” Dino tells him. Prompto puts down his emergency bag, filled with necessities, on the floor, and takes off his shoes. 

“There’s a Sentinel and Guide Center a few blocks away, I think?” Dino says. “We’ll go there tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Prompto tells him. 

“Nonsense,” Dino says, shrugging off his tie and coat and tossing them over his couch. “Two young gays are infinitely more powerful than one. We’ll get this figured out.”

“They can’t make me go to the Citadel, can they?” Prompto asks. “Like, they don’t have the power to do that?”

“Oh, they have the  _ power _ to do that. And they did it yesterday,” Dino says. “But if they try it again, I’ll release everything I have on them, about how they’re seizing a naturalized citizen without cause.”

“That won’t help,” Prompto says, biting his lip.

“No,” Dino says, “But it’ll be something.”

The next morning, far earlier than either are used to getting up, they head over to the Center. It’s early enough that they avoid the worst of the line, but there’s still about twenty people ahead of them in line. Most of them teenagers, unbonded guides and sentinels, who are all twitchy, little things. 

“Well, this is cheerful,” Dino jokes. “I can see why you didn’t want to do this.”

Prompto hums, staring at the line. The wait in those uncomfortable, plastic chairs, until after an hour, it’s Prompto’s turn.

“A bonding certificate?” asks the man at the desk.

“Um, no, I’m--a late bloomer,” Prompto tries weakly.

“A late bloomer,” repeats the man. His badge reads,  _ SALMO _ . “Right. ID?”

Prompto hands over his ID, other paperwork at the ready. “Says here you’re a refugee.”

“That’s correct,” Prompto says.

“Papers?”

Prompto hands them over.

“There’s a fine for not registering when you’ve developed,” says Salmo. “It increases over time.”

“How much is it?” Prompto asks, anxiously fidgeting in his chair. He thinks of the twitchy teens and tries to make himself stop.

“5,000 gil,” says Salmo, with no emotion, like that’s not a huge sum of money that Prompto  _ doesn’t _ have. 

Prompto stares at him. “I don’t have that kind of money. I can’t pay that.”

Salmo sighs. “We can potentially waive the fine. Or offer a sliding scale. But we need to get you tested.” The next five minutes, Prompto silently tries not to panic--seriously, he  _ can’t _ panic over this right now, not with a bunch of young, untrained guides and sentinels around--while Salmo fills out paperwork. Then, he stamps it, and hands it over. “Please wait over there until you’re called.”

Prompto hurries over to where Dino is sprawled over his chair, playing on his phone.

“The fine’s 5,000 gil,” Prompto hisses. Dino starts.

“Shit, man,” he says. “I can--fuck.” He runs his fingers through his hair, uncertain. “I can lend you the money.”

“They might--waive it, or offer a sliding scale, but-- _ shit _ , there’s no good way to do this, we couldn’t afford the fee when I was younger, and we can’t afford the fine  _ now _ ,” Prompto says, tears pricking at his eyes. He keeps his mental gate tightly closed. “I need to calm down.”

“I have money to help you pay the fine,” Dino says. “We don’t have to ask Aranea to help out. It’s not a problem.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Prompto protests.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering, and you sure as hell are going to accept,” Dino says, “I can swing it.”

Prompto closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to borrow money from Dino--he already gets him the photography jobs that he does, simply because of their friendship--but it’s better than asking Aranea. “Okay. Okay. But I’ll try to get it waived.”

“I’m sure I can talk them into waiving it, if you let me at them for five minutes,” Dino says, with his most charming smile. Prompto smiles back, feeling a little better.

An hour passes before Prompto’s called in for his test.

He leaves Dino in the waiting room, because he’s not that needy. Even though he really would like Dino to come with him. 

He’s led to a small, windowless room, with a woman guide who has a no-nonsense appearance, and a young guy who looks fresh out of school. Despite everything, Prompto relaxes a bit--the woman doesn’t look like she wastes any time with bullshit.

They both radiate rather soothing waves of calm. Bonded guides, the both of them.

“Here for your guide test?” she asks, not really needing an answer. Prompto nods. “So this is how it’s done--I’m going to send a wave of empathetic intent at you, and my assistant, here, is going to catch the overflow. From the difference we’ll calculate what your level is. Does that make sense?”

Prompto stares. “No?”

She sighs. “Okay. My empathetic level is 73. I am going to send a wave an empathetic intent at you, and unless you’re a higher level than me, there’ll be some overflow. Say, for example, you’re 36 so so. That’s a difference of 37, and Nepa here will be able to tell us roughly what level you’re at. We can do a more precise measurement later, but right now we just need the general level.”

“Oh,” Prompto says. “Okay.”

“It’s easy,” the woman says. Her name tag reads  _ COBIA _ . “It doesn’t hurt, and we’ll be done in five minutes. You’ll get an email once a month about sentinels you match with once a month, but you’re under no obligation to act on them.”

“Unless I become a public danger, right?” Prompto says, before he thinks better of it. He feels a sharp sting of regret, and does his best to stop it from leaking out. 

Cobia almost definitely feels it, if she’s a  _ level 7 _ . Prompto didn’t know they had level 7s do work like  _ this _ . He thought they would all be paired off with some crownsguards. Or  _ Kingsglaives. _

Ifrit, maybe she is. No reason why she wouldn’t have a day job separate from her sentinel.

Prompto’s gut twists, thinking of how  _ terrifying _ it must be, but he wonders how that works. The sentinel can’t go off to battles without their guide, right?

But if the guide is a civilian, you can’t take them  _ to _ a battlefield. Can you?

That seems like a way to lose your guide pretty quickly.

“No one can force you to bond against your will,” Cobia repeats firmly, and there’s gentle waves of certainty with it. “If you begin to present as a danger to yourself or others, there are other options, including therapy and guide training.”

Prompto hesitates, but that’s… reassuring. For a moment there, Cobia strongly reminds him of Aranea.

“Are you ready?” Cobia asks. 

Prompto nods. The process does sound easy enough. He doesn’t even have to do anything.

A moment passes. He feels nothing but a slight tingle of empty intent. “Was that it?” he asks. 

“Nepa?” asks Cobia. 

“I’ve got nothing,” says the man. Nepa. 

“That’s odd,” she says. “Let me try again.” A minute passes, another wave of empty intent, a bit more forceful this time.  “Mr. Argentum? Did you feel anything?”

“No?” he says. “Um, no, I didn’t. Just like. Some intent.”

Cobia is frowning. “Nepa, would you mind trying?”

Nepa takes a steps closer and visibly concentrates, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brows. 

Prompto doesn’t feel  _ anything _ this time. He shifts in his chair.

“Anything?” she asks. Prompto shakes his head. “Well.”

She takes out a pen and clicks it. “It seems likely that you exceed my level, which means I need to give you a referral.” She writes for several minutes without speaking. Then she rips away the page, hands it to Prompto, and turns to type onto her computer. “You’ll need to see a guide in the Citadel. Here’s your case number--I’ll give you a call when they have time to see you.”

The  _ Citadel _ .

Shit.

“Okay,” Prompto says, mouth dry. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He steps out, too stunned to need to fear empathetic bleed, to Dino grinning victoriously. “I got your fine waived,” he says. “And a phone number!”

Prompto swallows, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, trying to not freak out in the Center. “That guy’s old.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Dino says, winking. The smile begins to fade though. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I need to be retested,” Prompto says. “They think my level is too high for them to measure. I have to go to the  _ Citadel _ .”

Dino stares at him. “Well,  _ fuck _ .”


	3. It's Over 90!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Dino go to the Citadel.

“We could just leave,” Dino says again, as if Prompto didn’t hear him the first few times.

“I can’t leave,” Prompto says. Not for any length of time--his apartment is in Insomnia, and Aranea would expect him here. And there’s always that niggling issue of the Empire nipping at the heels of Lucis’ borders, and Prompto’s particular vulnerability to them.

“Why not?” Dino says. “We’ll go to Galdin Quay. Or Lestallum. I know a photographer there--he’s an asshole, don’t get me wrong, but if he hires you, you won’t need to ask Aranea for cash.”

That’s--tempting. “But then I couldn’t come back here,” Prompto says. “I can’t--Dino.” A bit unwilling, he touches his tattoo. “Insomnia has the Wall. I can’t make it so I can’t return here.”

“So, what?” Dino pushes, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table. “You’re just going to walk into the Citadel? Prompto,” he says. “Seriously. What if they don’t let you go this time?”

Prompto doesn’t answer right away. “I worked hard for my Insomnia citizenship,” he says. He can’t just leave. That would be just like giving up.

He doesn’t want to leave Insomnia. It’s his home.

Dino sighs, and rubs his face. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you.”

“Dino, you can’t flirt your way through the Citadel,” Prompto says. “That’s not how it works.”

Dino grins, wild and challenging. “Watch me.”

...

The Citadel is just as imposing now as it was when Prompto was escorted with a full regiment of Crownsguards, partly because he has no idea where to even go.

“Do we--just go in through the front?” Prompto asks Dino. He feels under-dressed to be here, and even Dino looks a bit too stylish to really fit in with the obviously fine, tailored, aristocratic outfits the passing people wear.

“I guess so?” Dino says. He doesn’t look as uncomfortable as Prompto does, but he doesn’t look comfortable either.

“There was a side entrance,” Prompto says. He thinks they’re getting double takes from people around them, but all they’re doing is standing there. “I don’t know if we can get in that way, though.”

Dino sighs. “Alright, up the stairs. Come on, it’ll be my workout for the day.”

Many stairs later, Dino wheezes at the top, “I think I’m going to die.”

“We don’t need a Wall,” Prompto mutters to him. “We’ll defeat our enemies with stairs.”

Dino snorts, and he catches his breath, they walk over to the Kingsglaive guards by the doors.

Both of whom are bonded sentinels, and Prompto--well, he didn’t really feel like he needed to hide his guide status at this point, and he always hated the medication for it. Their eyes swivel to him immediately.

“I’ve got a referral,” Prompto blurts, nervous and knowing that they know it. He shoves the paper at the closest glaive, who emits calm and has slicked back blond hair.

“Guide testing,” the glaive says, scanning the document. His eyes narrow. “Why are you being tested now?”

Prompto maintains his line. “Late bloomer.”

“Late bloomer,” the glaive repeats, eyes refocusing on him. The calm vanishes, and nothing replaces it--he’s a very well-trained sentinel. Prompto can’t even tell if his strongest sense is sight or not--the others aren’t as obvious as scent or taste. “Your name?”

“Prompto Argentum,” he says.

“It says here,” the glaive says, frowning. “That your tester was at level 73?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says. Clears his throat, “Yes, that’s correct.”

“And there was no overflow?” the glaive questions. “They think you’re stronger than that?”

“That’s what she thought,” Prompto says, not quite willing to commit to confirming anything like that.

“Luche,” the other glaive says, fingers pressing against his ear. “This is the guide that came in with the Marshal last week.”

Prompto bristles a bit, at that description. He didn’t come in with the Marshal, he was herded into going with him.

“Huh!” the glaive--Luche--says. “I’m surprised they didn’t bring you back in sooner.”

“They tried,” Dino cuts in, smiling winningly. The Kingsglaives are impervious to his charms, but that doesn’t stop him. “But Crownsguard aren’t allowed to seize law-abiding citizens for no reason other than they think he’d look nice wrapped up in a sentinel. Now, gentlemen, can we go in for our appointment now?”

“And you are?” demands the other glaive, dark hair and skin and has a clear, Galahdian accent.

“I’m his advocate,” Dino answers easily.

The glaives stare at them. Prickling irritation brushes around Prompto from Luche, but the other one feels more amused. Luche sighs. “Alright. Come with me.”

They follow behind him, and Prompto hisses as quietly as he can, “Since when--”

“Shut up, Prompto,” he hisses back.

They go down the long halls again, but this time they go up an elevator.

Everything’s a bit overwhelming, but Prompto thinks the hallways they’re taking this time around are even nicer than the last time.

The doors they reach are not the pale, sterile things that cover the sentinel safe room. These doors are large, wood, and heavy.

Luche knocks, and without waiting for a response, opens the door.

There’s a guy there, sitting behind a desk Prompto can immediately tell is solid wood and pricey. He’s tall, which is obvious even while he’s seated. Prompto guesses he’s middle-aged, but it sure wouldn’t stop him from wiping the floor with Prompto easily.

“Captain Drautos,” says the dark-haired glaive, and there’s an odd, buzzing feeling that bewilders Prompto until realization clicks. They’re a bonded pair. He doesn’t do well hiding his surprise. That dude’s a guide.

He’s a Captain.

That’s so cool.

“There’s a guide who needs testing,” Luche says, and the phrasing is… not very reassuring. Drautos’ eyes flick over to Dino, and he adds, “He’s his... friend.”

“A friend,” Drautos repeats. “I see. Guide, what’s your name?”

Prompto straightens his posture. “Prompto Argentum.”

He nods. “And your friend’s?”

Dino clears his throat. “Dino Ghiranze.”

“You’re not a guide,” Drautos states. “Or a sentinel. Why are you here?”

“I’m, uh--” Dino stutters. Prompto told him that the Citadel wouldn’t be as easy to flirt through as everywhere else. But he wished he had been wrong. Dino unsettled greatly increases Prompto’s discomfort, but Dino finds his footing. “I’m here to make sure you guys don’t kidnap him again.”

Drautos raises a single eyebrow. He is so cool, Prompto thinks.

“He’s referring to last week,” Luche says, “when the Marshal was brought in with a guide to the sentinel safe room.”

“What does that have to do with a kidnapping?” Drautos asks, frowning.

“Because your goons forced my friend here against his will,” Dino says, leaning against the back wall, making himself comfortable and crossing his arms, and Prompto really hopes that Dino won’t get arrested or anything. This Captain does not seem to be the type to tolerate any bullshit.

Dino seems to realize that as well, and doesn’t quite manage to not fidget under his stare.

“You mean Cor’s goons,” Drautos says eventually. The dark-haired glaive standing behind them snorts. It’s quiet, but there’s no other sound in the room. It’s so unexpected that Prompto startles, a little. He realizes, a bit belatedly, that he’s not getting anything from the Captain. Or from the glaives now.

Holy shit.

That’s one hell of an area dampening effect. That’s--whoa.

“Take a seat,” Drautos says. “We’ll just do the test now. Pelna, please get Axis for me.”

The glaive by the door exits, and Prompto takes a seat. The chair is not particularly comfortable. “Sit in the other chair,” Drautos says, waving a hand towards a chair pushed up against the wall. “I only have that chair for distinguished guests.”

“Right,” Prompto mutters, jumping up like his ass is on fire, in addition to the burning on his face. He pulls the chair away from the wall, and sits on it, and--it’s actually way more comfortable?

“I don’t like the nobility to get too cozy in my office,” Drautos tells him. Of course--he likely knows everything Prompto’s feeling. “That chair there is for them.”

Despite himself, Prompto cracks a little smile.

Drautos smiles back at him. “What was the level of the guide who tested you at the center?”

“Seventy-three,” Prompto answers.

He huffs. “Yes, that merits sending you here at least.” The door creaks open when Pelna returns with another glaive, dark haired and scruffy. “Alright, so this is going to be the same process as in the Center. I send empathetic intent at you, and Axis will catch the overflow, and we’ll get an idea of your level. Although,” Drautos says, leaning forward on his elbows on his desk casually, “we already know that you’re at least a level 7. I don’t suppose you have any interest in joining the military?”

“Um,” Prompto says, trying not to yell no immediately in his face. “Not really.”

Drautos stares at him, and Prompto tries his best to keep his flimsy shields up. Eventually, the captain sighs, and says, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Axis moves forward to stand by the desk, and Prompto’s nervousness grows.

Silence passes, and Prompto feels a warm, tingling feeling wash over him. It’s stronger than the woman’s at the center, and it feels… reassuring. Prompto relaxes a bit, but tenses right up as soon as he realizes why.

Drautos frowns. “Axis?”

“I’m ready, sir,” he says.

Drautos looks at him, and back at Prompto. “But I’ve already--you didn’t feel anything?”

A brief pause before, “No, sir.” And then, “Did you do it already?”

“Yes, I--let’s try again,” and there’s another wave of empathetic intent--still warm, and cloying at the edges, inviting Prompto to relax into the chair, but with more urgency.

“Anything?” Drautos asks.

Axis answers, “No. I didn’t get anything.”

“Well,” Drautos says, “fuck.”

…

“I’m at level 96,” Drautos tells him, sometime during the ensuing chaos. “And if Axis isn’t getting any overflow, that means you’re a higher level than me.”

“What?” Prompto asks weakly.

“No way,” Dino says. Prompto starts because he didn’t remember Dino was still there. “Listen, if he was a level 9, we sure as shit would have already figured that out.”

Drautos gazes at Dino with cool measure, leaning his chin on his hands. “Usually you would. A level 9 guide, unbonded and untrained, is no small danger. But, we only found you because you helped Cor, didn’t you?”

“I--uh, yeah,” Prompto says.

“So you haven’t had any major incidences,” Drautos muses. “Have you been trained?”

Not in any way that wouldn’t put Prompto more in trouble than he already is. At least he’s probably not going to go to prison for being a Niflheim spy at present moment. “No, um, not what I didn’t learn from hunters. My sister’s a hunter,” he explains.

“Ah,” Drautos says. “I see.” He lets Prompto twitch for another moment, before saying, “You’re sure you don’t want to join the Kingsglaive? Most of us are refugees,” how the fuck does he know I’m a refugee? “You’d be in good company. And I can teach you how to be powerful.”

“I, uh,” Prompto flounders. “Um, no.”

Drautos stares at him, and Prompto struggles to not try to explain himself and make things worse than they already are.

“Think about it,” he says finally. “The offer’s open, if you change your mind. Although, we still need to report this. And, Prompto,” he says, “you realize that, being a level 9 guide, there’s going to be a lot of pressure on you to bond with a sentinel, don’t you?”

“Yeah, like what you’re doing?” Dino snorts loudly. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“No,” Drautos says, looking annoyed, even though Prompto still can’t feel anyone in the room. “I mean nobility. The Kingsglaive comprises of immigrants, refugees, who have lost their homes and suffered at the hand of the Empire. Which, if I were to guess, you might have also had personal dealings with.” Prompto tries not to feel anything at all at that statement, which is probably answer enough. “You’d find friends here. Family. People who would understand where you’re coming from. And I didn’t become Captain of the Kingsglaive,” Drautos adds forcefully, “by luck. I could teach you the same.”

“Um,” Prompto says weakly. “I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do,” he says. He stands up, and Prompto reflexively stands up as well. “Come on, then. We have to go talk to Clarus.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, and doesn’t really get anything else out before he’s trailing after the Captain of the Kingsglaive. Dino follows him, and the two glaives trail behind them. They make for a bit of a spectacle.

“Clarus,” Drautos calls out at a door, before opening it. And yeah--Prompto didn’t figure there would be two important people named Clarus. It’s the intimidating man who herded him to the Citadel last time.

“Yes, Titus?” Clarus says. He’s not looking at them, rather leaning over some papers at the table. He looks up. “What is--oh. It’s you.”

“Hi,” Prompto says, for want of anything else to say. Before, Clarus exuded powerful, stable, bonded sentinel--but Drautos is still doing his dampening effect. Prompto feels a bit blind, trying to read people on their body language and words alone. How does Dino do this so well all the time?

“You know him?” Drautos asks.

“Yes,” Clarus says. “Come on in. I take it you got tested, then?”

“He’s a higher level than me,” Drautos says. It makes Clarus pause.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Drautos says, edge of annoyance. “I’ve told him that he’s welcome to join the Kingsglaive.”

Clarus’ eyes turn to Prompto, who quickly says, “I don’t want to join the Kingsglaive,” and then flinches at how rude that is.

Drautos scowls, but Clarus smiles. “We can certainly discuss the various options open to you,” he says. “Thank you, Drautos.”

That’s apparently a dismissal, and Drautos stalks out with his Kingsglaives, but not before saying to Prompto, “Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want to do.” Then it’s just Prompto and Clarus and Dino.

“Ah, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Clarus says to Dino.

“I’m here to help him consider his options,” Dino says.

“Ah,” Clarus says, frowning. “I see. Well,” he waves a hand to the chairs in the room, “take a seat.”

They both take a seat. Neither chair seems designed for discomfort.

“Either of you want anything to drink?” Clarus asks.

Prompto’s frozen with indecision, not knowing the choices or what they might say about them, when Dino says, “Water’s fine.”

“Me too,” Prompto adds.

Clarus pours them and himself some water, in bottom-heavy glasses that Prompto is pretty sure are meant for hard liquor.

“First off,” Clarus says, “I apologize for that fiasco last week. We were operating under procedure as if you were a trained guide and one of ours, and not a good samaritan who was helping a sentinel in distress.”

Prompto’s about to thank him, tell him that it was no trouble, and all is forgiven, all of which is a lie, but Dino cuts in, “So why’d you send a goonie to his apartment then?”

“I beg your pardon?” Clarus says.

“There was a Crownsguard literally waiting for him outside his apartment,” Dino snaps. Prompto lightly projects some warning to him because this was not a man who he should anger, not right now. Dino shoots him an annoyed look.

“Yes,” Clarus says slowly. He’s bonded, and well-trained--well, Prompto supposes you have to be, for politics--there’s no empathetic leaks from him. Prompto can’t tell if he’s actually confused, like he sounds. “The Crownsguard I sent to escort Prompto to his registration.”

“You mean kidnap,” Dino accuses.

“Dino,” Prompto hisses.

“What?” Clarus asks. “No, why would--? We were never going to kidnap you.”

“You already did, when you took him here against his will and locked him in a room with some sentinel!” Dino yells.

Prompto buries his face in his hands. “Dino,” he mourns, muffled.

“Yes, I--I realize that that was an error,” Clarus says. He’s surprised enough by Dino’s boldness and anger that some astonishment bleeds through. “Cor’s made that apparent enough. The Crownsguard I sent was merely to ensure that you had no problems registering, and to take care of any fees or waiting lines.” Neither Prompto nor Dino have a response to that. It sounded… too helpful… to be real. “As thanks for your assistance with Cor,” Clarus elaborates. “I… apologize for unintentionally frightening you.”

“Well,” Dino says, surprised. His aggression tones down a bit. “We didn’t need your help. If it wasn’t for all of this, the registration and all that shit would have been over already.”

Why did he have to swear in front of the Shield of the King? Prompto thinks, wondering wildly if he’ll still have his best friend after this.

“Dino, was it?” Clarus asks.

“Yeah,” Dino says. “Dino Ghiranze.”

“You two are good friends?” Clarus asks.

Confusion. Suspicion. Prompto doesn’t know what Dino is thinking, but grows similarly wary. “Yeah, we are.”

“Would you say you’ve ever experience any empathetic assaults or backlash through your proximity to Prompto?” Clarus asks.

“What? No,” Dino says. “Prompto would never hurt me.”

“Of course not,” Clarus says, which stymies how taken aback Prompto is by his question. “But you must understand--this is a very unusual situation.”

“Unusual how?” Prompto asks, mouth dry.

Clarus leans back in his chair. “Typically speaking, guides that are level six or higher are found long before they go to get tested or to register,” he explains. “Untrained guides have difficulty regulating the empathetic feed they receive which causes them great distress, and they also often lash at out psychically at those around them. It’s… bizarre, to say the least, that you haven’t had such an incident.”

They’re quiet. “So you’re saying,” Dino says, “that most powerful guides end up hurting people long before they register?”

“Yes. And with your friend at level 9…” He trails off, considering Prompto.

Prompto swallows, thinks how he’d forced Cor away from him, and imagines what would have happened had it been Dino on the other end of that. His stomach turns.

“I see you’ve realized how serious such a situation would be,” Clarus says. “It’s fortunate that it didn’t happen.”

Dino doesn’t say anything, but he’s broiling with alarm and suspicion. Prompto says weakly, “Yeah.”

“The quickest and surest way,” he continues, “to ensure that such an incident does not happen is to have you bond with a trained sentinel.”

“Hell no,” Dino says. There’s not much force about it, but he’s making an earnest muster towards it as the surprise falls away.

Clarus carefully maintains only calm. Prompto appreciates the effort, even as much as it irritates him. He doesn’t want to feel calm. This isn’t a situation to feel calm about.

“You can’t make me bond with a sentinel,” Prompto protests, heart starting to beat rapidly.

Clarus frowns, forehead creasing. “No one will make you bond with a sentinel,” he says, laying his hands flat on the desk. “That’s not how--ah.” The crease disappears. “You’re from Niflheim. Of course. When did you come to Insomnia?”

Prompto bites his lips, and forces himself to stop because it’s such an obvious sign of nervousness. “I was ten.”

“I see,” Clarus says. “I assure you that we do not force guides to bond with sentinels, no matter the circumstances. There are other options, and precautions we must take for both your safety and the safety of others, but we may start with those.”

“What are those?” he asks. His heartbeat is still too quick, and he’s certain that the sentinel in front of him can hear it, regardless of what his strongest sense is, but Clarus politely ignores it.

Clarus shrugs. “Mostly training. It’ll be a much longer process, but it’s doable. In some cases, we’ll send a sentinel with you to prevent incidences during your daily life, but that doesn’t seem necessary in your case.” Prompto breathes out an obvious sigh. “We do request that, even if you do not choose a sentinel to bond with, you allow yourself to a calming session with one or two during your training.

“That sounds… fair,” Prompto says.

“Good,” Clarus says. “Are you completely against the idea of bonding with a sentinel? Or might you be open to it in the future?”

Prompto hesitates. He shrugs, for lack of any real desire to outright refuse or otherwise commit to words.

“Would you be willing to meet sentinels here who would be compatible with you?” Clarus asks. Dino starts, gearing up to fight on Prompto’s behalf, but Clarus cuts him off. “You’re not obligated too, though I’m certain you’ll meet most of them anyway during training. Some of them will have to be involved in your training regardless. But if you’re willing to consider it--with no expectation or obligation--I would be happy to arrange those meetings.”

“But he doesn’t have to,” Dino repeats. “Prompto, you don’t have to.”

“I… guess there’s no harm, though,” Prompto says. “Right?”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Dino admits, after a moment of considering Clarus.

Clarus doesn’t smile, but Prompto feels that he wants to. “Excellent. We’ll get your training schedule sorted as well as those introductory meetings.”

They get shown to another room, where Prompto works out a training schedule with someone who manages too many schedules. Prompto does not know how to explain his work schedule, and Dino can’t really help.

“Alright,” says the assistant, shuffling papers. She’s not wearing a name tag, and while she introduced herself, Prompto’s already forgotten it. “Why don’t we put you down for regular training sessions everyday, and you just cancel the ones when you have work?”

“Sure,” Prompto mutters. “That’s fine.”

They get shown out, but Prompto takes the opportunity to shoot pictures on the way, which the Crownsguard--who is neither sentinel nor guide--allows.

“Hey, what are you doing?” comes a voice and an awareness of a powerful bonded sentinel, and Prompto spins around, clutching his camera. For a powerful sentinel, it’s not that big of a guy--he’s slight, black hair, black clothes of the Crownsguard, and a young face. Probably about Prompto’s age.

“We’re on our way out,” Prompto says. Dino gasps, and radiates such a mixture of emotion that it makes Prompto momentarily dizzy. “Uh, I had an appointment here.”

“An appointment?” the guy asks, eyes narrowing. They flick to the Crownsuard, who doesn’t help out or explain anything. What’s the point of having an escort out if they don’t protect you from people who want to interrogate you on your presence? “Wait--” he says, taking a step closer. “You’re a guide. And--what’s your level?”

“I’m, um--” Prompto doesn’t know how to answer that. He does, in fact, have a number now, where before he always just had to lie and pretend, but being a level 9 doesn’t seem real. A nobody like him would never be that… powerful. Special.

“He’s a level 9,” Dino answers, voice weirdly hoarse and strangled. Prompto turns his head to look at him, but his emotions--Prompto has no idea what the fuck is happening there. Stop giving me a headache, Prompto thinks, and tries to project at Dino, but then everyone in the room suddenly become confused.

“What was that?” asks the guy, before shrugging. “And you’re unbonded?”

Okay, this is getting weird and personal. “I don’t see how--you’re bonded.”

“Yeah, no, sorry, I’m not--I’m bonded, but I have a high-level sentinel friend who hasn’t been able to find a guide,” which explains a little, but Prompto’s a little stunned by how rude and presumptuous this guy is. And to add the frosting on the cake, the guy pretty much orders, “Come meet him.”

Prompto says, “No, thanks,” right when Dino says, “Sure,” and they look at each other.

“Sure we will,” Dino tries for the second time, as Prompto says, “Maybe later.”

“Prompto!” Dino says, grabbing Prompto’s arm and dragging him away. “Sorry, give us a second.”

“Oh, come on, Dino!” Prompto says. “What the hell?”

“That is the godsdamned Prince!” Dino hisses, once they reach an alcove far enough away to avoid sentinel hearing. “You have to!”

“I--the Prince?” Prompto asks, thinking about the news articles and press conferences. “Really?” And--yeah. The hair and the face click, suddenly, and Prompto feels a rush of embarassment. “Oh, no.”

“You gotta meet the guy,” Dino says. “The Prince is personally recommending him. At least just meet him. Then we’ll go.”

“I don’t want a sentinel,” Prompto repeats.

Dino’s hands on his arms flex for a second, and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I know. But--if there’s anyone to at least meet, it’s a friend of the Prince.”

“He might be terrible,” Prompto says.

“Won’t know if you don’t meet him, and if you’re going to meet sentinels anyway…”

Prompto sighs. He’s got a point because that would be one hell of a connection to have. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I wouldn’t do this otherwise,” Dino says. “But we don’t want to upset the Prince, and the sentinel’s go to be an important guy. No harm in meeting him. Who knows--maybe he’ll be the man of your dreams.”

“Uh-huh,” Prompto says, “Right.”

They go back to the Crownsguard and the Prince. “You two alright?” the Prince asks.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Prompto says. “I’d be happy to meet your friend.”

The Prince’s face brightens up with a smile. “Great! Come on--he’s probably in his office.”


	4. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto goes for Guide Training.

The Prince waves them to follow him, and they step into an elevator behind him.

He punches in a button and leans against the wall. Prompto waits as they go up, focusing on the light music that’s playing, trying not to fidget obviously.

But the Prince is staring at him.

“You look familiar,” the Prince says.

Prompto clears his throat. “Yeah. We went to the same high school.”

The Prince frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “Did we take a class together?”

Prompto shakes his head. “Uh, no.”

“I saw you around, though,” the Prince says, “I didn’t know you were a guide.”

Prompto shrugs. He rarely ever saw the Prince when they were at school, and he more often saw the Crownsguard by the Prince rather than the Prince himself. Which was a relief, at the time; Prompto had enough sentinels to worry about in school and Insomnia figuring out that he was suppressing his guide empathy with illegal medication. He didn’t need to add the Prince to that.

They never would have let Prompto that near to the Prince anyway.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Prompto says.

“But you’re such a powerful guide,” Noctis says, still frowning. He’s looking at Prompto like he’s a particularly perplexing puzzle. “Even if we were in different classes, I should have known you were around.”

Prompto shrugs, trying for _that’s not my problem_. He doesn’t know how well it works, but the Prince lets it go.

The elevator dings, and the Prince walks out. Prompto, Dino, and the Crownsguard follow him down the hallway, to a door that’s propped open.

“...that is no excuse. You can’t cut corners in forms like these, everything must be filed correctly,” comes a voice from one of the rooms. It’s angry and cold, and Prompto shivers a bit.

Another voice, a bit too low, mumbles something.

The first voice says, “Perfection is not a requirement of this position. Double, triple, quadruple checking, however, to avoid careless mistakes such as this one is. People rely on us to submit these forms correctly and in a timely manner. Do you know what would have happened,” the voice asks, and it’s louder as they approach it. It’s coming from the door that’s propped open. “If you had submitted this?”

“... would have… nothing…” said the second voice. They’re miserable, he knows, in the face of such anger. Miserable and resigned.

“People would have died,” says the first voice coldly. At this point, they’ve reached the door, and they wait with the Prince while the argument pans out. The Prince himself just leans up against the wall with his arms crossed, looking bored. As if this is a normal occurrence. “Go report to your supervisor. You’re on probation.”

There’s the screech of a chair moving, and a man walks out of the door, stopping startled at the sight of them. He flushes, but bows with a, “Your Highness,” to the Prince, and hurries off, misery and embarrassment radiating from him.

The Prince steps forward through the open door. “Hey, Iggy!”

‘Iggy’ is a tall man with eyeglasses and a dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His anger is simmering below the surface, but that’s obvious enough by his expression.

The anger eases off when he sees the Prince. “What is it, Noct? This is hardly the time.”

“Yeah, wanted to introduce you to Prompto. Prompto, this is Iggy.”

Iggy’s gaze moves from the Prince to Prompto, his eyes narrowing a bit. He goes through a very quick whirl of emotions, almost faster than Prompto can track--confusion, wariness, recognition, surprise.

“And is… Prompto a new friend of yours, Noct?” Iggy asks slowly.

"He just got tested as a guide. I thought I should introduce him to you, since you know, you never go out yourself,” the Prince answers easily.

“ _Noctis_ ,” this Iggy says, scandalized. “Do you even know him? I’m terribly sorry about this,” he says to Prompto, whose face burns a little less from the apology. “Please, don’t let us keep you. This is--terribly awkward, and I am so sorry for Noctis’ rudeness.”

“Specs--” the Prince begins, but Iggy interrupts.

“Yes, Your Highness, I know I’m such a terrible _bore_ , but I won’t demand a guide’s attention and time if they aren’t offering it in the first place. Without even noting they might have interest.”

“I didn’t mean to--” the Prince says, looking between Iggy and Prompto.

“You still did it. Again, I can’t apologize enough,” Iggy tells Prompto.

“Uh,” Prompto says. He’s not particularly used to sentinels addressing him directly _first_. “It’s okay.”

“Please, don’t let us keep you,” Iggy says, which is enough of a dismissal that Prompto nods, and turns around, the Crownsguard and Dino coming with.

Prompto breathes out.

“Well,” Dino says, “that was interesting.”

“Later, man,” Prompto mutters. “We’ll talk _later_.”

…

Dino’s couch is long enough that if they space their legs right, both he and Prompto can stretch out at the same time. Dino leans back on the arm of the couch, sipping his homemade cocktail, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling.

“I liked Iggy,” Dino announces, after several minutes. “I mean, it _could_ have all been for show, but I really doubt the Prince is that good of a wingman.”

“Okay,” Prompto says, “I need you to back up like ten steps of that thought process because what the fuck.”

“Well,” Dino says, swirling his cocktail without spilling it, somehow. “Are you really planning on never picking a sentinel? ‘Cause, if so, I’ll play interference and all that good stuff, but are you going to consider any of them?”

“Uh,” Prompto says.

“It sounds like, from what the Kingsglaive Captain said, and the Shield said, and then even the _Prince_ , that there are a lot of powerful sentinels dying to do the mind smoosh with you,” Dino continues. “So you might even have, you know. Your pick of them. And Iggy’s hot.”

“Uh…” Prompto says. “Do you know what a mind… uh, _smoosh_ means, Dino?”

Dino squints at him. “You gain a mental and emotional connection with each other,” he says, textbook correct.

“Yeah, that,” Prompto says, “but it’s… that doesn’t really _describe_ it, you know? I had to get pretty good at protecting myself, and the drugs helped with that, but it’s. It’s _horrible_ , most of the time. There’s lots of sentinels in Meldacio HQ, and I’ve helped most of them at some point, and most of them are decent, and I like them well enough, but having their _thoughts_ in my _head_ is…” How does he make a null understand? “Painful. Like daggers into my brain. My soul, or whatever. And that’s not even getting to sex.”

Dino frowns. “But that’s when they were distressed, and only when they were distressed, right? Bonding with a sentinel is supposed to be different.”

“I dunno,” Prompto shrugs. “They say it’s supposed to be different, but… in Niflheim, they--” Prompto swallows. “Guides freak them out. The idea that we can influence emotions, so guides were first exterminated, and then they realized they needed us for their sentinels, so they just kept us tightly controlled. When they realized that they can bond us to a sentinel as soon as we developed our empathetic powers…”

“You mean, if you had stayed in Niflheim?” Dino asks softly.

Prompto takes a sip of his drink, but it’s already gone. It’s just a drop of water from the melting ice. “Yeah. Guides can really hurt people, but we have… more specific consequences for it, that we have to train to avoid. Like, I could probably send out an empathetic attack on someone--” and he _did_ , actually on Cor that one time, _shit_ , he hopes that never comes up again, “--but I’d have to defend myself against the consequences of that attack. Like from the pain they feel. That I caused. _That_ requires a lot of training. And it’s supposed to be way worse if it’s your sentinel, because you’re connected to them all the time.”

“So if your sentinel mistreats you…” Dino says.

“It takes a strong or well-trained guide to fight back against it,” Prompto finishes.

“What about sex?” Dino says, “It’s never really been clear to me if sentinel and guides are supposed to bang or not, honestly.”

Prompto shrugs. “They don’t have to. It’s not required, or anything, for bonding. But a lot do, I think? In Insomnia, they usually don’t, and if they do, no one talks about it.”

“Yeah,” Dino says, “no one talks about it, but it seems like most sentinel and guide pairings are also _together_.” He taps his fingers against his glass. “How do they do bonding in Niflheim?”

Prompto makes a face at his empty glass. “Sex, I think. Bonding requires at least a little bit of physical contact, I think, and… making the mental connection with someone unwilling is… easier… if they’re, uh… being made vulnerable. Physically.”

“Titan’s _tits_ ,” Dino says. “Shit, Prompto.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says. “In Insomnia, they just like. Hold hands for a while. Which is… fine, honestly. Great.”

Dino considers this information, draining the last of his drink, and kicking out his legs to fix them up another round. Prompto pulls in his legs and tucks his chin on his knees and rests like that.

From his kitchen, Dino muses, “It seems weird to me that guides are at such a disadvantage to sentinels. You’d think they’d be more… equally dependant and vulnerable to each other.”

“Theoretically,” Prompto calls out to him, uncurling from his position. “A guide could… control the emotions the sentinel feels entirely. If the guide had enough control. And the sentinel did not.”

“Oh, shit,” Dino says, coming back with their drinks, “the usual sentinel-guide pairings I hear of are of a older sentinel and younger guide--”

“Yeah. So most guides never really get to that point, not compared to where their sentinels are at,” Prompto says, scooching around so Dino can lounge back on the couch.

“So you’d be more at risk for that with like… Cor, then,” Dino says.

“Yeah, probably,” Prompto says.

“Not so with Iggy,” Dino adds.

“I guess not. Maybe. Iggy’s probably really well-trained, though. They _all_ probably are.” Prompto rubs his face. “Sweet Shiva, they’d all be able to twist me into what they want.”

“But you’re a powerful guide, so there shouldn’t be that much of a difference between your level and either of theirs, so you shouldn’t really have to worry about a sentinel being able to mistreat you. Right?”

“Not… exactly…” Prompto says. “I dunno, man, it’s hard to avoid mistreatment if you’re always connected to someone’s _thoughts_. Like, how do I stop them from changing my way of thinking? If someone wants to mistreat me and thinks I deserve it, so thoughts of me deserving mistreatment become my _own_ thoughts, how the fuck am I supposed to counter that?

“Oh,” Dino says. “ _Oh._ Yeah, okay. I see the problem.”

“Yeah.”  
  
Dino sips his drink a bit, thinking. “Would the training they’re offering help?”

Prompto sighs. The worst part of the offer is that he does think it’ll help, so it’s difficult to talk himself out of going. “Probably. Lucis has trained guide soldiers. And the Kingsglaive Captain… His control was so good he could damper an entire _room_ the entire time we were with him.”

Dino’s eyebrows raise. “Really? Shit, even I know that’s intense.”

“I should go to the training,” Prompto mutters. “Fuck.”

…

Prompto gets a call from a number that doesn’t have caller ID, so he answers it and isn’t surprised when Clarus says, “Hello, Prompto. How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” he says. Then adds, “And you?”

“I’m good, thank you for asking,” Clarus says. “I wanted to speak to you about your availability for guide training.”

Prompto hums into the phone.

“Do you have regular times in the morning or afternoon when you’re available?”

“Uh… no,” Prompto says. “My job isn’t really consistent.”

“And what do you do for a living?” Clarus asks.

“I’m, uh, a photographer,” Prompto says. “Sometimes bodyguard.”

There’s silence coming from the other end. Prompto hates phone calls. He can’t get empathetic read on people. Though Clarus is a controlled enough sentinel to not let out leaks, anyway…

“A bodyguard?” Clarus asks. “For whom?”

“The, uh, you know my friend who was with me, Dino? When we met?” Prompto says. “I keep him safe when we go out on tips.”

“Tips?” Clarus says, like he doesn’t think he heard right.

“News tips. He’s a reporter. I take photos for him, and also shoot things that want to make a snack out of him,” Prompto says. Clarus doesn’t say anything, and his worry grows. He’s a sentinel, sure, and Prompto’s a guide, but he can’t raise a stink about Prompto risking his own life for his work when so many sentinels do the same, right?

“Sorry,” Clarus says, “I’m surprised you know how to fight. Most guides who aren’t trained don’t know how to block the empathetic backlash that come from injuring another living thing.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Prompto says, not sure how to say that he doesn’t _block_ the backlash, he just, you know, deals with it. “I had to.”

“Yes, of course,” Clarus says. “Well, that’s fine. Why don’t we tentatively schedule your trainings for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 5pm, and we’ll reschedule as needed?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Prompto says. That does actually sound fine. And very reasonable and accommodating, so Prompto’s instantly suspicious. “Sometimes I don’t know about a job until day of, though.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Just send your teacher a text as soon as you know,” Clarus says. “I’ll have the information texted to you.”

“Okay,” Prompto says. “Great. Who’s gonna be my teacher?”

“Hm, that’s still up for debate. Titus volunteered, but my son is a powerful guide, and you may find him a bit more approachable.”

“Your son’s a guide?” Prompto asks, surprised.

“Yes, Gladiolus,” Clarus says. “You’ll meet him soon. He’s only a couple years older than you, and while he’s dedicated to combat, he’s less specialized than Titus. But it’ll probably rotate, considering that their other duties will call them away. How does that sound?”

“Uh, fine,” Prompto says. Captain Drautos will probably try to recruit him again, but Prompto can deal with that.

…

The following week, Prompto doesn’t have any jobs with Dino to use as an excuse, so he takes the train to the Citadel, feeling anxious and out of place.

“Hi, um,” Prompto says to the uniforms at the gate, “I’m, uh--”

“Prompto Argentum?” says the Crownsguard, catching Prompto off-guard. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come with me.”

Prompto follows the Crownsguard through the halls, which are no less intimidating than the last time. He expects to end up in a training field or some pleasant guide-safe room, but finds himself instead led into a room where Clarus and Drautos are sitting at a small table.

“Uh,” Prompto says, not sure how to brace himself for whatever is going to happen, because Drautos is dampening the room so he can’t get a read on anyone.

“Prompto,” Clarus says. His expression is… tense? Prompto thinks? “Please, have a seat.” Prompto sits. He doesn’t really know what to do, but Clarus pours him a cup of tea. “We also have coffee, if you would prefer.” Prompto shakes his head. Tea is fine.

“Captain Drautos,” Clarus says, “would like to reiterate his offer on having you join the Kingsglaive. And failing that, he requested that you assist as a civilian Guide to the Sentinel Kingsglaive as a whole.”

Prompto stares at the both of them, heartbeat beginning to thunder in his chest. “What?”

“Titus would like to know if your decision to refuse joining the Kingsglaive is final,” Clarus says. “And if you might be willing to assist Sentinel Kingsglaives as a civilian.”

“No,” Prompto says, with more force than he should. “Uh,” he clears his throat. “No.” Guides who have to assist entire squadrons… he saw what that did to guides in Niflheim, the ones who supported multiple sentinels without being bonded to one. It tore them apart and left them miserable, depressed, or dead.

“Are you sure?” Drautos asks. “I can guarantee you the best training.”

“I’m sure,” Prompto says quickly. He can’t let them rip his mind apart, he can’t. Drautos narrows his eyes at him, and Prompto wonders, _how much can he feel while he’s dampening the room?_

“We understand,” Clarus says, sitting up a bit straighter. “You are, of course, under no obligation to accept any of these offers.”

It sure doesn’t sound like that. “I only agreed to do training,” Prompto says weakly.

“Are you alright?” Drautos asks. “We didn’t mean to cause you any distress. These are only some options available to you. If you’re interested in joining the military and advancing through its ranks, and receive one on one training with me, you could join the Kingsglaive. If you do not wish to join, we could still offer you a vital position within its ranks as a Civilian Guide which includes a generous salary.”

“I don’t want to join the Kingsglaive,” Prompto says quickly. He tacks on nervously, “Sorry, sir.”

Drautos sighs. “Very well. I have one more option to propose to you. Ulric, if you would?”

One of the Kingsglaive standing guard by the door steps forward. He has small face tattoos and an undercut, and his face is stoic and handsome.

“At ease. Prompto, this is Kingsglaive Nyx Ulric. He’s an unbonded sentinel who I work with closely,” Drautos tells him. “I believe the two of you would benefit from a bond, and that you might be compatible together.”

 _You know nothing about me!_ Prompto yells in his head. He eyes Ulric uneasily. Ulric’s expression doesn’t change.

“Why?” Prompto asks, his mouth not asking his brain first for permission. He doesn’t have the words to continue.

“Why what?” Clarus asks.

“Why do you think we would be a good pair bond?” Prompto pushes forward with. “How did you even come to that conclusion?”

“Ulric is a potential option,” Drautos says, “if such a decision is mutual. You will have other options,” and Drautos makes a not so subtle glance towards Clarus, who ignores him, “if you wish to choose a sentinel to bond to.”

“Other options,” Prompto repeats quietly. “What are you--are you going to lineup a bunch of sentinels and make me pick?”

Clarus and Drautos exchange a look, both seeming surprised. “No,” Clarus says. “Of course not. We have top candidates, who are at your level and at your age, who we believe would find a bond with a guide highly beneficial, but you’re under no obligation to bond with anyone.”

 _And highly beneficial to one of you_ , Prompto thinks.

“Permission to speak, sirs,” Ulric asks, before Prompto can make a mistake like actually saying what he’s thinking out loud. Which is a good thing, Prompto is well on his way to panicking entirely.

“Granted,” Drautos says.

“This isn’t Niflheim,” Nyx says, speaking directly to Prompto. “No one here is going to force you to bond with anyone, or pass you around to sentinels until you become suicidal or anything.”

“What?” Clarus says, visibly taken aback. “We are certainly not going to do any of that!”

Drautos also seems surprised, but he collects himself faster than Clarus. He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, his full attention on Prompto. He solemnly tells him, “I currently fill the role of Guide for many of the Kingsglaive Sentinels. Other guides within the ranks assist me. The position of Civilian Guide would be to _assist_ that role, and nothing more. Certainly nothing that would impact your mental and emotional health.”

 _He_ currently fills the role? The _Captain_? That’s definitely… not what Prompto expected, but he does believe him. He certainly doesn’t appear like his mind has been ripped to shreds.

“Certainly not,” Clarus says. He looks like he tastes something bad. Or bit into a lemon.

“Okay,” Prompto says, and finds it is a relief, knowing that. Prompto still can’t feel the emotions of the room, but--he _thinks_ they’re genuine. He considers the idea briefly, of helping out sentinels like he has so often in the past with hunters, not being expected to bond with any particular one, and having a steady salary. If it’s all true, that is. “Would I have to pick a sentinel, if I was a Civilian Guide?” Because if he _doesn’t_... without a bond to a sentinel, whose thoughts will undoubtedly influence Prompto’s…

Short-term or repeated exposure over time do affect guides, but it shouldn’t be any worse than when he assisted hunters. Which was bearable and for good reason, even if it was terrible. Prompto can preserve himself through repeated short-term exposure.

Without a bond to a sentinel, constantly influencing, changing, and shaping him, Prompto wouldn’t need to worry as much about being _changed_ by a sentinel.

“You could if you wanted. When you want to,” Drautos says, shrugging. “I held off for quite a long time. When you interact with that many sentinels, having one in particular you’re bonded to is less necessary. But some find it helps ground themselves more to have a bond while working with unbonded sentinels.”

“And…” Prompto hates to ask, but he needs to know. “You said a salary?”

Drautos peers at him, resting his chin on his hands. “Competitive. I’m sure we can work something out that will make you happy. And, of course,” Drautos adds, “generous benefits.”

“Oh,” Prompto says. He’d rather have a number, but that sounds… promising. Tempting. If he had a guaranteed income, Aranea wouldn’t have to send him money to help support him, and she could take on less hunts. Or use that money for more important things. “I’ll… think about it.”

“Alright,” Drautos says. “Here, my card. Let me know what you decide.”

“Okay,” Prompto mutters, pocketing the card.

Clarus stands up. “Allow me to walk you to your training session. It’ll be with my son, Gladio, who as we discussed, is also a guide.”

Prompto nods and stands up.

Ulric is standing by the door. Prompto desperately tries not to make eye contact with him.

As they walk, Clarus says, “Do you mind if I… broach a topic of a sensitive nature?

“Uh,” Prompto says, not sure how much more personal they can get, having already offered him a potential life partner and several jobs. “Sure. Shoot.” Without Drautos around, Prompto’s empathic abilities go unhindered, but Clarus is well-trained. And he’s not sure an empathetic read can explain this question.

He clears his throat, staring determinedly in front of him. “I had not quite… I was not thinking very much of the fact that you’re a refugee from Niflheim, and had not considered that in my discussion with you earlier today or last week. I am fortunate Ulric brought that to our attention so we could clarify.”

“Me too,” Prompto says tentatively, when Clarus pauses for too long. They walk down an empty hallway.

“This may be inappropriate,” Clarus says, “and certainly uncomfortable, but I would like to… emphasize that if you do choose to bond with a sentinel here, especially a sentinel we have suggested, you are absolutely not obligated to…” he clears his throat again. “To have sex with them.”

Prompto’s face burns. If that is true, then why was their potential candidate a young, handsome guy?

His brain stutters a bit when he realizes _oh yeah they don’t know I’m gay as fuck_.

“Oh,” Prompto says, voice high and strained. “Good. That’s good.”

“However, it’s… not uncommon for sentinel and guide pairs to become--intimate,” Clarus says, “and we’re certainly willing to… listen to your… preferences. If that’s something you wish to consider.”

“Oh my gods,” Prompto whispers. Astrals clearly do not exist or don’t care about any of them, because if they did, Titan would have swallowed Prompto into the eos already to spare him this embarrassment.

“Additionally,” Clarus pushes on, apparently on a roll of some kind, “is your hesitation for choosing a sentinel because you already have a partner?” Clarus asks. “Because again, at least here in Insomnians, that’s not the, er, _demand_ in a sentinel and guide bond.”

“What?” Prompto asks. He has no idea why Clarus thinks that, and while it would be a fair question from and for most people, the _Shield of the King is talking to him about sex and relationships_.

 _How is this my life?_ Prompto wonders.

“Your friend who came with you last week,” Clarus says, “Dino. Is he your partner?”

“Not like that,” Prompto says. They _tried_ to hook up once, and it was just awkward all around. They never tried again. “We just work together. And, uh, he’s a good friend.”

“I see,” Clarus asks. Something else is clearly on the tip of his tongue. Prompto waits, with no other choice, as they keep walking. Clarus clears his throat.

“Is there anything you’d like us to consider if we suggest other sentinels to you?” Clarus asks. “Or is Ulric a candidate you’ll consider?”

“Sweet Shiva,” Prompto says. “Yeah, I’ll consider him. It’s fine. Men are fine. Now, _please_ , stop.”

“My apologies,” Clarus murmurs. They head down some stairs to the outdoors, where a tall man with tattoos down his arms is training with a sword bigger than Prompto. “I wanted to make sure that expectations were clear. And that we weren’t wasting your time.”

“Great. Appreciated. Is that Gladio?” Prompto says. Clarus nods, so Prompto says, “Great, bye now,” and rushes over to his guide trainer.

Ifrit, if Clarus’ goal was to make him relieved for training, he sure _succeeded_.


	5. Dirge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's training goes... about as well as anyone could have hoped, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll probably work on tying the knot next

Prompto hurries over to his guide trainer, who’s a man taller than Drautos.

_This guy is a guide?_ he thinks incredulously, and instantly admonishes himself. Prompto’s a guide, and he’s been fighting those same stereotypes his whole life. He should _know_ better.

Granted, Prompto’s a bit abnormal for a guide, but. Still. The least he can do is not be an asshole.

Prompto hasn’t realized that he believed the old stereotypes, as he considers the man before him. He’s tall, sporting a wild undercut and a large bird tattoo that spans over his shoulders and most of his arms.

“Hey, Dad,” the man calls out, smiling as he puts a hand up. “This the guide, then?”

“Yes,” Clarus says, face smooth and unflappable like he hadn’t been just asking Prompto about his sexual orientation. “Prompto, this is Gladio, my son. He’ll be giving you guide training.”

“Great,” Prompto says, “thank you.”

With a nod, Clarus departs.

Prompto stands around awkwardly, waiting for Gladio to say something.

“So,” Gladio begins, waving him closer. “What training have you had before?”

“Um,” Prompto says. “Just. Basic stuff.”

It’s not quite a lie. For all intent and purposes, it really is, though, because anyone who’s a trained guide will be able to tell as soon as they reach out to his mind that no one with a single idea of what they’re doing has ever given Prompto a word of advice. Everything he’s learned has been by necessity.

Or through the Empire, which isn’t even worth thinking about. If Prompto’s right about what guide training involves, thinking about it would be dangerous.

But he can’t tell the truth, and Prompto knows enough to keep his own abilities under wrap, so ‘basic stuff’ is accurate enough.

“Basic stuff,” Gladio repeats. “Who taught you?”

“Uh, just some… hunters…” Prompto says. He tries to cover up by adding, “My sister and I didn’t live in Insomnia for a while, and I was around hunters a lot of the time. Some of them were guides, so…”

“Guide hunters?” Gladio asks, frowning. “That’s interesting. Were they bonded with sentinel hunters?”

“Uh, no. Most of them were sundered,” Prompto says, unintentionally saying the word _sundered_ more quietly than the rest, out of respect. There’s always someone who outlives their partner, but no one really likes to talk about it.

“I thought most hunters were sundered _sentinels_ ,” Gladio muses. He sits down on the ground cross-legged, and Prompto follows suit.

“I mean… yeah, they are.”

Gladio sighs, and his control over his own emotions is pretty tight, but a pang of sadness that isn’t his flutters through the air. “I guess bonding with other guides or sentinels wouldn’t be an option, huh?”

“Not really,” Prompto says. “They were all pretty fucked up.” He’s not sure they could have bonded with anyone new even if they had wanted to.

“And you learned how to control your abilities from them?” Gladio asks.

“In bits and pieces. I kinda had to.” He also used drugs for it, but he shouldn’t mention that.

Or think about it either. Right.

Gladio takes in a deep breath, and Prompto’s not a little bit envious about his whole chest and muscles and everything. And attracted to, because his ass is _so gay._

He shouldn’t think about that either. Though on the scale of catastrophe, Gladio knowing that Prompto finds him attractive as fuck would be infinitely better than knowing that Prompto’s only training comes from his time as an Imperial experiment.

“So no formal training,” Gladio says. “What do you do when you get empathetic overload?”

Suffer, mostly. “I retreat until it fades,” Prompto says.

Gladio frowns. “No sentinel friends who can help? What about the hunters?”

“Uh, they weren’t really… good at helping,” Prompto explains weakly. “You know, a little bit too much trauma to make soothing.”

“I see,” Gladio says. “Well, alright. We’ll start from ground zero. You ready? Do you have any questions for me?”

“Uh, so, yeah,” Prompto says, “what are we going to be doing?”

“Oh,” Gladio says. “Yeah, I should probably explain that beforehand.” He leans back onto his hands. “So, given that you haven’t lashed out and caused anyone any harm, your own shields and control must be pretty good. What I first need to do is figure out how strong they are and if you have any weak points, and then we’ll go over exercises to strengthen them up.”

Prompto frowns, not liking any of that. “So you’re going to throw empathetic attacks at me?” Wouldn’t they need a sentinel—or two—present for that? Guides _can_ help other guides, but that sounds like they’re going to _deliberately_ overload Prompto, but that can’t be right. Can it?

“No, no,” Gladio says. Then he sighs. “At least not today. Today I’ll just be—uh, probing, I guess. We gotta start it small, or it’ll hurt you more than help.”

“Wait,” Prompto says, holding his hands up to physically signal _stop this nonsense_. “You’re really going to do that? You’re gonna _try_ to overload me?”

“No,” Gladio says firmly, but continues with, “not before—”

“Dude!” Prompto cries, standing up. “Seriously?”

He’s got an odd look in his eyes now, peering up at Prompto. “Official guide training isn’t easy,” he says. “If it was, everyone would do it.”

“But—what?” That doesn’t make any sense. He thought all guides got official training in Insomnia. Wasn’t that the point of registering? “I thought…”

“There’s a difference between the Standard Training all guides are offered,” Gladio says, clearly picking up on his confusion. Prompto flinches a bit. He didn’t mean to project that. “And Citadel Guide Training. If you’d been a lower level, they probably would have just signed you up for classes at the Guide Center to get you what you need to know to be safe for yourself, others, and potentially your sentinel. _But_ since you’re a higher level, you can do more damage, and you need better control. Guides who are level seven and higher, and sometimes level sixes too, need to go through the Citadel Training.” Gladio pauses meaningfully. “ _Unless_ , of course, they bond with a trained sentinel.”

A beat passes. Of course it all comes down to bonding with a sentinel. “And what’s sentinel training like?” Prompto asks.

“It’s easier,” Gladio says, shrugging. “They learn ways to focus themselves before zoning, which is pretty much what guides are supposed to do for sentinels. Most of them carry an object around that they can take out and focus on that appeals to whatever is their strongest sense.”

“So you don’t have to intentionally overload them,” Prompto says.

“We do,” Gladio says, “but not empathetically.”

“So people keep telling me to bond with a sentinel…”

“Because sentinels are easier to train,” Gladio finishes. He shrugs. “Just a bit of unfairness in the world.”

“So that’s why there’s more of them,” Prompto says.

“Yup. A strong guide pops up, usually they just choose to bond with a sentinel rather than go through training,” Gladio says.

His stomach takes a swan dive, while his heart begins to pound. “So, what, you’re gonna overload me until I give in and pick a sentinel?”

“What?” Gladio says, going still where he’s sitting and eyes widening.

“Is that the _plan?_ Show me how terrible it is to train to be independent, and push a sentinel on me?”

“I—no, that’s not it at all—”

This isn’t right, Prompto realizes, when his heart doesn’t stop thudding in his chest and the threads off panic lace through his veins. He has more control than this. Something’s wrong.

“Oh—shit—okay,” Gladio says, getting up. He’s intimidatingly tall, even more so now that Prompto’s a couple of feet away from him rather than across the courtyard, and he flinches when he places his hands on Prompto’s shoulders.

The contact does help. He feels a little less like his heart is going to beat a hole into his chest.

“You’re alright. Everything is fine. We’re not going to move the training any quicker than you can handle, and we’re _never_ going to try to intentionally hurt you. The exercises will be very, very controlled,” Gladio says, rubbing his hands soothingly on his upper arms. He’s exuding calm so heavy and steady that he thinks, _Shit, their training really does make them powerful_.

He relaxes under the unceasing waves, feeling better than he has for days. After his panic and the low-key tension he’s been carrying for days, now, it makes him feel drugged.

_Oh_ , Prompto thinks, remembering the guide medication that he has not been taking. _Shit._ He’s been taking it so long, he forget that it wasn’t his _normal_.

He sways where he’s standing, and Gladio helps him sit down on the ground. He takes away one arm to shoot a message on his cellphone, the remaining one keeping Prompto tethered to the present. The calm doesn’t stop.

Prompto wraps his arms around himself. Tries to remember how long he’s been taking the guide medication, and wonder why it seemed like it was a good idea to stop suddenly.

All he thought it did was prevent others from sensing or smelling that he’s a guide. He didn’t think that it… _muted_ his own abilities.

“Something’s wrong,” he hears Gladio say to someone who’s entered the courtyard. “I thought Dad said that he was very controlled…”

“Hm,” says a familiar voice, and Cor kneels down in front of him. “It’s good to see you again. How are you feeling, Prompto?”

“Fine,” Prompto says. He waves a hand over to Gladio. “He can stop.” He doesn’t want Gladio to stop. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this calm before. Or stress free. Do normal people feel like this naturally?

Cor’s eyes are narrowed at him. “You smell different,” he says.

“I didn’t shower this morning,” Prompto says easily, the lack of worry letting his sarcasm flag fly. Gladio’s calm fades from the air, either out off respect to Cor or due to Prompto’s request. Bereft of Gladio’s calm, there’s a disquieting emptiness that remains that informs Prompto that he _should_ be panicked and stressed, but his brain just hasn’t caught up yet.

“It’s not that,” Cor says, eyes focused. He stands up. “Gladio, help me get him to the medical wing. We should get him checked out.”

“Whoa, wait,” Prompto says, after Gladio’s already helped him up and gets him walking with a hand on his back. “I don’t need to see a doctor. I’m fine.” He can lie and say that it’s the stress of this situation, can’t he? They won’t have to find out that he was taking medication for his guide abilities before.

“If you are fine,” Cor says, “then there won’t be any harm in seeing a doctor.”

Prompto can’t argue with that.

…

“How long has it been since you developed your empathic abilities?” asks the doctor.

“Recently,” Prompto lies. “I’m a late bloomer.”

“Alright,” she says, not marking anything down. “Please keep in mind that all of the information we discuss here is purely confidential. I do not report to the Marshal or even the King himself. With that in mind—how old were you when you first developed?”

Prompto hesitates. “Like thirteen or so.”

“So a fairly typical age,” she says, noting that. “What’s your birthday?”

“Uh,” Prompto says. “October 24th?”

The doctor looks at him with a raised brow.

“I’m a refugee,” Prompto explains meekly. “My birth certificate has my best guess on it.”

The doctor clucks sympathetically. “Those rotten imperial bastards,” she says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Tension tightens Prompto’s jaw. There’s a difference between _imperials_ and _niffs_ , and Prompto knows what she means, but it’s often not a line distinguished. His hackles rise and fall in the same breath. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Have you ever taken any medication to in any way interfere with your guide abilities, prescription or otherwise?”

Prompto hesitates for too long. “No.”

“Mr. Argentum,” she says, “I don’t care about legality. I _need_ to know what you’ve taken, if anything, in order to properly treat you. And,” she continues, “if I don’t know what you’ve taken and I prescribe you something that mixes badly with it, it could have drastic side effects. Some medications when mixed can even kill you. So, please. Honesty. I’m trying to help.”

“ _Dirigo confuto_ ,” Prompto says quietly.

She’s surprised, but it doesn’t show on her face. “You’ve been taking dirge?” The doctor asks. Prompto squirms. “Alright. For how long? And do you know what the dosage was?”

“Since… since high school,” Prompto says, not saying _when I first started going to school and it became a problem_. “And, um… 50mg capsules.”

“I see,” she says. “Very well. It’s been several years, which explains the withdrawal symptoms you’re facing now. When did you stop?”

“Few days ago,” Prompto says.

“Aside from this afternoon’s panic attack, have you experienced any other cases of emotional outbursts?”

“Mostly—no. Just been feeling pretty miserable. And, uh, sensitive. Empathetically.”

She writes that down. “Very well. I can give you some medication that will help you wean off of it, which will be an easier process than stopping it all at once. You will need to coordinate with both myself and Mr. Amicitia regarding your symptoms and training. I imagine your training might need a more focused approach these first few weeks. The Captain may also be involved, as I hear he might assist in your training.” She clicks her pen as she contemplates. “He would have more experience with this sort of thing than Mr. Amicitia.”

“Weeks?” Prompto repeats.

“To come off these drugs safely, it can take up to a few weeks,” the doctor confirms. “We also need to run some tests. It’s been a few years, and while there likely hasn’t been any lasting damage in that time, it is a longer period of time than anyone would recommend staying on Dirige.”

There’s not much that Prompto can say to that other than, “Oh.”

‘Tests’ evidently mean that she wants him to pee in a cup. Prompto worries that she’ll want a blood sample too, but thankfully, she does not. Just his piss.

The tests take some time to process. The doctor asks him to stay there while he waits, after handing him a cup of water and a pill to take. The pill’s to start weaning him off of dirge, but they need to wait a few hours to make sure it has an effect. Until then, he’s practically a public threat, given his empathic sensitivity.

Prompto assumes that means that they won’t let him leave right now, even if he asks, but they’re trying to not say that to him _unless_ he asks. So he doesn’t. He does understand. If he goes out on the the metro and has a panic attack… he could do a lot of damage.

A nurse turns on the TV for him, and he starts to watch it, before exhaustion hits him and pulls him under.

…

He wakes up to his phone ringing in his pocket. Prompto fishes it out, sees Dino’s name, and answers.

“Dude, where are you?” Dino asks. “It’s almost 9pm.”

“I—I had an issue during training,” he says, because he never actually told Dino about the medication he was taking. “Went to their medical wing.”

“What! Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just, I fell asleep waiting for their tests, I guess,” he looks around. The lights are off, save for the blinking light of medical equipment, and in the dark, it looks _almost_ like the machines from his nightmares.

But not quite. It’s too soft. Insomnian aesthetic for their medical practices isn’t the white and gray lines of Niflheim, and there’s no sharp medical tools that are visible and threatening. Prompto can’t see anything sharp, anywhere. There are cartoon stickers on the sides of the machines and pinned up to the boards, explaining to him why it’s important to check breasts regularly for lumps.

Soft white light shines from the hallway. Prompto gets up, puts on is shoes and grabs his bag, and walks out tentatively.

“Oh, you’re awake,” says a voice before he’s even done adjusting to the light.

He swivels to face the speaker, to see—

That… sentinel Drautos and Clarus offered to him. Well, presented to him as an option. No, Prompto decides, they really just offered him to him.

Fuck. What’s his name?

“Uh, yup,” Prompto says. “Awake. That’s me.”

The sentinel makes a noise, that’s maybe a snort. Or a scoff. Prompto can’t tell if the medication the doctor gave him was enough to suppress his empathic abilities this much, or if the sentinel is that well-trained.

… Considering how Prompto met this guy, it’s probably the latter.

“I didn’t mean to sleep for that long,” Prompto says. “Sorry.”

The sentinel shrugs. “It’s fine. It sounds like you needed the rest.”

“Uh, yeah. Guess so,” Prompto says, shifting. “So, um… am I allowed to go?”

The sentinel considers him. Prompto tries not to project; he thinks he succeeds. He feels a lot better than he did before, but he’s not sure if it’s the medication or the nap. “Of course,” says the sentinel after a short length. “You have the medication the doctor gave you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Prompto says, taking it out of the front pocket of his bag to shake it in front of the sentinel. “Right here.”

“Then I’m to give you a ride home,” he says. “Follow me, please.”

Six, Prompto wishes he could remember his name. He spends the entire walk thinking of that, the awkward silence killing him.

The sentinel even opens the car door for him. Gentlemanly. Dino would like that.

“You seem anxious,” the sentinel comments lightly, once he’s in the driver’s seat. The car’s engine is smooth and quiet. If the car weren’t moving, Prompto wouldn’t know that it’s on. “Everything alright? You can stay in the Citadel tonight if you need to.”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Prompto says.

“Your heart’s been beating at an accelerated rate this entire time,” he counters.

“Oh, Shiva,” Prompto says. So this sentinel’s thing must be _hearing_. Great. “What’s your name?” 

“What?” he asks.

“Your name,” Prompto says, “I forgot it, and it’s really shitty of me considering, but I’ve just been trying to remember it.”

The sentinel’s eyes gaze at him through the rearview mirror, and _now_ Prompto can feel his surprise. “ _That’s_ what’s been bothering you?” the sentinel asks. “It’s Nyx. Nyx Ulric.”

“Nyx,” Prompto repeats. “Okay. Great. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Nyx says. “I’m sure it was… overwhelming, how we met.” He doesn’t mention anything about Prompto’s subsequent panic attack, which he must know about, if he was stationed to the hallway outside the medical room he was in. A surge of gratitude rushes through Prompto.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. He clears his throat. “They had you guard me in case I needed a sentinel around?”

He nods. “Sometimes it takes some time for the medication they gave you to kick in,” Nyx explains, “and sometimes it doesn’t have an effect at all. Especially after the black market shit.” Prompto tries not to flinch. “Someone needed to be around for you either way, and well…”

“They have reason to assign you to me,” Prompto finishes.

“Yeah,” Nyx says. “Pretty much.”

“Sorry, man,” Prompto says. “I can’t imagine… I mean, did you… how did they choose…”

Nyx does laugh, this time. “You wanna know why they offered me as a potential sentinel for you?”

“Yeah, I’m a little bit curious about that,” Prompto says. “What were the qualifications? They didn’t just, tell you to do it, right?”

“Is that what they do in Niflheim?” Nyx asks. His voice is a little too light, for the subject.

Tense quiet follows. “I’m asking what they do here,” Prompto says.

“No,” Nyx says. “They didn’t do that.” He sighs, as he flips on the turn signal at the stoplight. “Captain Drautos has been my mentor for years. And I’m not leaving the Kingsglaive anytime soon… or ever, really. Whether or not you join the Kingsglaive like the Captain wants, being my guide would still be a big help to our unit.”

Prompto wonders, briefly, if Drautos is trying to find a successor. He mentioned that when they first met, offering to train Prompto as his protege. Is Nyx a possibility for that? Is Drautos trying to guarantee that the next Captain of the Kingsglaive is powerful and secure in their position?

“So…” Prompto says. “Are there not other unbonded sentinels in the Kingsglaive? Or is it just you? ‘Cause if there’s a whole bunch of sentinels that I have to meet—” Prompto will definitely have a panic attack, but he finishes with as much humor as he can muster, “—I might start getting an ego.”

He can see Nyx grinning in the reflection on the windshield. “Oh, I see. You want to know why _me_ specifically?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says, “like why do they think that we’d… be good bonded together.” Because that’s really not something that should be done lightly. Recommending someone to bond to, even if that seems common in Insomnia, still strikes Prompto as unbelievable presumptuous. If Prompto had to make a recommendation of his own friends, which consists almost solely of Dino, he’d be cautious recommending him to just anyone. While he knows and loves him, Dino clashes with most people.

Granted, Dino also has tried to blackmail people multiple times in order to get a story, so that probably hasn’t helped.

Drautos recommending one of his soldiers makes much more sense than the Prince of Lucis recommending his _friend._ Sweet Shiva. That was an awkward mess. He shouldn’t, but Prompto still feels embarrassed.

“Nah, there’s a bunch of us,” Nyx explains. “But as to why me… to be honest, they don’t really know what they’re doing. The Captain likes me, we’re close enough in age, we’re the same level… that’s good enough for them. They’re not _matchmakers_ , that’s for damn sure.”

Prompto snickers a bit, at the idea of Clarus and Titus trying to match them by personality and romance compatibility.

“Lord Amicitia’s still gonna make his own suggestion,” Nyx warns. “Just a heads up. I don’t know who it’s gonna be. There’s some powerful sentinels in the crownsguard, but he’s not directly in charge off those, Cor is. He might choose someone he knows more personally.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, flashing back to the Prince dragging him back into the Citadel to meet his friend. “Not like… his son’s friends… right?”

Nyx’s beat of silence says it all. “Probably exactly that, yeah.”

“Shit,” Prompto says. “How am I gonna refuse that?”

“You say, ‘no, give me different options,’” Nyx says, “and they’ll give you different options. When it gets down to it, they want you to pick a sentinel in the Citadel. All the other shit is just that.”

“Sure is a lot of shit,” Prompto says quietly.

Nyx doesn’t argue.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr @seladorie, i talk about ffxv, my undying love for prompto, and sometimes post teasers and snippets
> 
> you can find this au through my "sentinel au" tag


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